“A bad thing for me when that legacy came. “But why, Lucy? Who is it 145 that you are trying to hide from? John?” Lucy closed her eyes in earnest. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. So, while she watched, distressed and bewildered by her tumbling thoughts, the packet, Canton bound, ruffled the placid waters of the Pearl River. FOOTNOTES: [A] At the hospital of Saint Giles for Lazars, the prisoners conveyed from the City of London towards Tyburn, there to be executed for treasons, felonies, or other trespasses, were presented with a Bowl of Ale, thereof to drink, as their last refreshing in this life. It is the bottom of the cup, where all the dregs appear to settle.
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