Grace-church Street was entirely deserted, except by a few stragglers, whose curiosity got the better of their fears; or who, like the carpenter, were compelled to proceed along it. And he began also at times to wake at night and think about her. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. " "Sir Rowland is my brother," resumed Lady Trafford coldly. "I love you like a son, and will follow you like a dog.
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