‘Good God! Everett Charvill, as I live. The primitive superstition of his Puritan forbears was his; and before this the buckler of his education disintegrated. “Take off your tunic. "But McClintock agrees to take you both—because he's as big a fool as I am. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. “I must go. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. I took the money myself, and ought to know. ’ A twinkle crept into Mrs Sindlesham’s eye.
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