His literary instincts began to stir. He could neither stifle nor deaden that. "Vell, vell," growled Sharples, after he had listened to the other's remonstrances, "it shall be done. It seems to me just talk; it seems to me like the fancy of a dream. . " Rambling in this way, the matron at length came to a halt, and taking out a key, pointed to a door and said, "This is Mrs. “I am sure, Anna,” she said, “I do not see why we should conceal the truth from you.
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