Let us be gone. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. It 163 invariably leads to trouble. I can't give you my hand; but you may take it. "Fire!—murder—thieves!—I've got one of 'em!" "Come along," cried Jack. ’ ‘The word of whom?’ came scoffingly from the pretty lips. Anna glanced into her sister’s face, and rose to her feet.
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