” Sir John did not hesitate any longer. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. They had turned into the street, on the opposite side of which were the flats where Anna lived. It would hurt no one. She got up and unlocked the door. Lest the carpenter should be taxed with too much uxoriousness, it behoves us to ascertain whether the personal attractions of his helpmate would, in any degree, justify the devotion he displayed. It wasn’t. " "Conduct me to your dwelling, Sir, without further delay," said Trenchard, sternly,—"to the boy.
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