Lucy sighed. All her protests seemed stifled before she could find words to utter them. It seems to me exactly what is wanted. She loved Florence, wandering the huge markets which bustled day and night. The Jew did not speak, but pointed to the audience-chamber. And this great mellow place, this London, now was hers, to struggle with, to go where she pleased in, to overcome and live in. "What good would it do you to destroy me? For I have courage to kill myself.
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