I’m going up to London with the Widgetts to that ball. Jonathan cast a hasty glance around, to see that all was properly arranged for his purpose; placed a chair with its back to the door; disposed the lights on the table so as to throw the entrance of the room more into shadow; and then flung himself into a seat to await Sir Rowland's arrival. May I do so to-day?” “It’s your gate,” she said, amiably; “you got it first. The Night-Cellar XVIII.
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