Lucy jammed her foot down onto Mark McCloskey’s forehead. The wine bubbled and seethed; and the exquisite bouquet of oranges permeated the room. "Begone, wretch!" cried the mother, stung beyond endurance by his taunts; "or I will drive you hence with my curses. Only one thing emerged with any reasonable clarity in her mind at once, and that was that unless she was saved from drowning by an unmarried man, in which case the ceremony is unavoidable, or totally destitute of under-clothing, and so driven to get a trousseau, in which hardship a trousseau would certainly be “ripping,” marriage was an experience to be strenuously evaded. A door, it may be remembered, opened from Wild's dwelling into this yard.
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