’ ‘Don’t count on it. Lucy found solace in the lack of sunshine, but the November cold was over the top, even for Illinois. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. She took up a book and threw it down again. Her lips parted, but no words came. After all, you failed in obtaining the secret from her, Sir Rowland. “I’m being honest with you. The amazing tonic of the thought! From time to time she laid her hand upon Spurlock's forehead: it was still cold.
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