Perhaps," she added, in a whisper, as she appropriated the beforenamed article, "he has a pocket-book. Wish SHE”—he indicated Miss Klegg’s back with a nod—“was at the bottom of the sea. "My child! my child!" exclaimed Mrs. A thing which had mystified her since childhood, a smouldering wonder why it should be, and until now she had never felt the urge to investigate. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. Never bought a shirt in my life, Mr.
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