It was cheating, pitiful cheating. The stench was cheese-like and unbearable and Lucy dry-heaved. A white house that she often found charming loomed gray and ashen, its gardens shorn for the coming winter. Time wore on somewhat slowly with the prisoner, who had to control his impatience in the best way he could; but as the shades of evening were darkening, the door was unlocked, and Mr. Mr.
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