‘I am not a fool. “Queer letters he writes,” she said. . She stared at him. In short, every contrivance that ingenuity could devise was resorted to by this horde of reprobates to secure themselves from danger or molestation. "Quite sorry, my good friend, there should have been any misunderstanding between us," observed the woollen-draper. She was perhaps as near tears as ever before in her life. " "Mr. CHAPTER II. She thought of how tired she was, how exhausted, how hungry. .
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