She leaped to a world of shabby knowledge, of furtive base realizations. “You’d have to think how to get in between his bones. "I'm my own master now, and I'll do as I please. He kept that, but the rest. And, as he was about to put himself into a posture of defence, his mother clasped him in her arms. As they entered the room beyond, a fierce growl was heard. Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. There was a brief pause, a crowded pause, between them. ‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. Most of the mob were armed with pikes, staves, swords, muskets, and other weapons, and offered a most desperate resistance to the soldiery, whom they drove back with a shower of paving-stones. It is for that reason that this novel begins with her there, and neither earlier nor later, for it is the history of this crisis and its consequences that this novel has to tell.
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