"Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. People are afraid of her that no one has ever dared to make fun of her. He sees men all defiled by coarse thoughts, coarse ways of living cruelties. \"What's in there?\" Lucy asked. ‘Have no fear,’ he uttered soothingly, reaching out to pat her free hand. When she saw however that this man was a stranger, and obviously harmless, her expression changed as though by magic. Notwithstanding her emaciation, her features still retained something of a pleasing expression, and might have been termed beautiful, had it not been for that repulsive freshness of lip denoting the habitual dram-drinker; a freshness in her case rendered the more shocking from the almost livid hue of the rest of her complexion. Their faces were masks of abject horror, sunken and shriveled, their cheekbones protruding.
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