Lucy clutched the pencil in defeat. The city presented a terrible picture of devastation. \"Where have you been, young lady?\" Mike crooned, a large grin on his fat Irish face. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. She was glad to join in the stream of hurrying homeward workers that was now welling out of a thousand places of employment, and to imitate their driven, preoccupied haste. The chair had extension arms over which a man might comfortably dangle his legs. Spare me, and I'll be quiet—quiet —quiet!" "Mother!" said Jack, advancing towards her.
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