On Saturday he went to that there Mr Charvill’s house. That delightful sense of free, unembarrassed movement was gone. It may not be just, it may not be fair, but things are so. It was the very spot from which his poor mother had gazed after her vain attempt to rescue him at the Mint; but, though he was ignorant of this, her image was alone present to him. “It spreads like wildfire. ” “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” He accused. I hope—I am sure that he did not see me.
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