She went about, intentlooking and self-possessed, trim and fine, concealing her emotions whatever they were, as the realities of her position opened out before her. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. "The feeling is dead within my breast. Just what in the world was that about? Before he could hazard a guess, Lucy looked back at him. As time went on, she began to think Martha had been mistaken.
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