Are you sure you're not misinformed, Sir?" "I was in the Lodge at the time," replied the jailer. She had to make sure, for the peace of her mind, that this was really the man. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. " "Yes, there was one," observed Ireton. Afterward she wanted to get her letter to her father back in order to read it over again, and, if it tallied with her general impression of it, re-write it. But still she knew they were not right, and at times they became a horrible obsession as of something waiting for her round the corner. ‘Come on.
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