Lucy changed into her Goodwill jeans and sweatshirt, plastering her hair down with an elastic band and securing it under a tight hood. Perhaps the sunken cheeks and the protruding cheekbones gave her this impression. “MY DEAR FATHER,” she wrote,—“I have been thinking hard about everything since I was sent to this prison. You have said a thousand times that there was no shame in you. My poor brain is so mixed, dear, I hardly know what I am saying. ‘But if you must fight so furiously, I don’t see how I can promise not to do it again.
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