“Poor Lucy!” Cathy exclaimed as she rushed in the door, umbrella sheathed. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application. The river, the big buildings on the north bank, Westminster, and St. Her roving eagerness was at all times shaded with shyness, reserve, repression. ‘Monsieur Charvill thought perhaps that his daughter would find not a welcome. The Times slipped from his fingers.
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