Amid this varied throng,—varied in appearance, but alike in character,—one object alone, we have said, rivetted Mrs. It’s John. " "My writing! no such thing!" ejaculated the lady, casting a look of alarm at the woollen-draper. He passed, and came loitering back and stood beside her, silently looking into her face. She would wake in the night to repeat her bitter cry: “Oh, why did I burn those notes?” It added greatly to the annoyance of the situation that she had twice seen Ramage in the Avenue since her return to the shelter of her father’s roof. If he awoke and caught you at it, there might be a set-back.
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