She was saying good-bye to childhood and home, and her making; she was going out into the great, multitudinous world; this time there would be no returning. She would have to move on to a more lawless country soon, Mexico, Columbia, then cross the sea where she could eventually return to the chaos of Eastern Europe and the Russias. . Sorry. It’s my choice, Lucy. ’ Kimble’s eyes widened. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair.
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