"Vell, vell," growled Sharples, after he had listened to the other's remonstrances, "it shall be done. He felt his heart beat faster and faster—his self-restraint slipping away. But take a drop of wine," urged he, filling a drinking-horn and presenting it to her; "it's choice canary, and'll do you good. “Dyed!” “And your figure?” “One’s corsetière arranges that. ‘Lawks-a-mussy! It’s Miss Mary. He was always tenderly courteous; he answered her ordinary questions readily and her extraordinary ones patiently; he always rose when she entered or left the room. ” “We will go to a very quiet place,” he assured her, “a place where I have often taken my own sisters. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. "Well?" he whispered.
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