"'Sdeath!" cried Hogarth, aside to the poet. Lucy did not move, but instead stared straight forward, her eyes focused on the desk where the presiding teacher on duty was supposed to be. Capes had the gift of easy, unaffected writing, coupled with very clear and logical thinking, and to follow his written thought gave her the sensation of cutting things with a perfectly new, perfectly sharp knife. The arrangement had been made by the town matchmaker, a frightening old oak of a man.
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