"What is it?" demanded the woollen-draper, as he returned to the table, and took up a glass. ‘Here, miss,’ came faintly from somewhere close at hand. She closed her eyes as if asleep, her hands folded neatly on her abdomen. A true nun. Why doesn’t she marry? Plenty of money under her father’s will. " The manager extended his hands at large, as if to deny any responsibility in the affair.
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