“You need not be alarmed,” he said. “Because you used to be my friend, Lucy, and now I don’t get to see you anymore unless I can get into your house. What of it?” There was a shout of laughter. The wedding procession passed on, and the cynical rabble poured in behind. Crack went the whip, and away floundered the heavy vehicle through the deep ruts of the ill-kept road, or rather lane, (for it was little better,) which, then, led across Southampton Fields.
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