Do you understand?” “I do not,” he answered. Oh, you must believe me. Distress like hers might palliate far greater offences than she ever committed. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. One chance in a thousand, and that would be the girl. “Really, Sir John,” she said, “I don’t know how to thank you. Martha had the square look of solid English citizenry, which was not deceiving.
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