At first she could not tell what it was; but as her eyes became accustomed to the light, she recognized the old coat. “Lucy, where is your callous? All violinists have calluses on their necks and hands from playing. This is altogether insupportable. Our men had him fast, held down in a chair. The stench was cheese-like and unbearable and Lucy dry-heaved. She saw her aunt in tears, her father white-faced and hard hit. Arriving at the chapel, their wonder increased. Wood, meantime, had not remained idle. She hesitated. “They have all been trying to turn my head. I don’t see any good in life if it hasn’t got you in it.
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