I didn’t ought to have sent for him. Well, what about it?" "I accept. Moored to the steps, several wherries were dancing in the rushing current, as if impatient of restraint. There was nothing in the pockets of the coat. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. ‘Yes, th-there it is,’ she uttered, stumbling a little over the words. ‘He lacked moral fibre, did Nicholas.
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