"What is your name?" To-day, however, he broke the monotony. Do have some tea, won’t you? If you must, go then. "So you're writing under a nom de plume, eh?" said McClintock, holding out the letter. But tell me how have you escaped from the confinement in which you were placed—come and sit by me—here—upon the bed—give me your hand—and tell me all about it. That was the glorious if bewildering truth.
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