Sometimes it seemed that she would never recover it. She clenched her hands together and leaned forward in her chair, gazing steadily into the fire. "Excuse me," he said, plunging his fork into a fowl, and transferring it to his plate. "No," replied Hogarth, hastily effacing the sketch. Lucy sat paralyzed, as still as Tiger Lily on the death raft. The brain tires of resistance, and when it meets again and again, incoherently active, the same phrases, the same ideas that it has already slain, exposed and dissected and buried, it becomes less and less energetic to repeat the operation.
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