"Whist!" exclaimed Terence; "he elevates his glim. “You cannot! Oh, you cannot. He used to live in a boarding-house in Russell Square. “How do you know—why do you think that my name is Anna?” He smiled in a quietly superior way. The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. She began rubbing it with her pocket-handkerchief. I am far too much the gentleman. The estates must, ere long, revert to Sir Rowland. ’ He grimaced.
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