"Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. He played variations on this theme for the better part of an hour. ‘I thought it was his great-nephew, young Brewis Charvill, who is his heir. "The Dutchman was right, after all. But it was her proof. She was suddenly grave. You cannot—shall not retreat. He used to live in a boarding-house in Russell Square. God help me.
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