The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror. Lucy had baked the apple and pumpkin pies, carefully molding the flour crusts and adding extra teaspoonfuls of allspice and cinnamon while no one looked. “Call me Cathy, John. " "When you heard what was going on, why didn't you send for me?" "I didn't know it was going on. .
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