Entering her prison-house with a listless step she took off her hat,
hung it on a plaster bust of Minerva, opened the shutters, leaned out
to see if there were any eggs in the swallow's nest above one of the
windows, and finally, seating herself behind the desk, drew out a
roll of cotton lace and a steel crochet hook. She was not an expert
workwoman, and it had taken her many weeks to make the half-yard
of narrow lace which she kept wound about the buckram back of a
disintegrated copy of "The Lamplighter." But there was no other way of
getting any lace to trim her summer blouse, and since Ally Hawes, the
poorest girl in the village, had shown herself in church with enviable
transparencies about the shoulders, Charity's hook had travelled faster.
She unrolled the lace, dug the hook into a loop, and bent to the task
with furrowed brows.
Suddenly the door opened, and before she had raised her eyes she knew
that the young man she had seen going in at the Hatchard gate had
entered the library.
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