Shall we sit outside and drink a petit verre of something to give us an appetite while dinner is being prepared?” “Certainly not,” she answered. Her loneliness was consuming, Lucia. Stanley, whose family had been by any reckoning inconsiderable—to use the kindliest term. Satisfied with his scrutiny, he produced a pocket-flask, and taking off the silver cup with which it was mounted, filled it with the contents of the flask, and then seizing the thin arm of the sleeper, rudely shook it. Sheppard broke from him, and filled the room with her shrieks.
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