‘You have rifled his papers. The vault, in which Sir Rowland found himself, resembled in some measure the cabin of a ship. It might be upset. ‘Woof!’ uttered Trodger, gazing at the lady in some awe. “My Mom was a good lady. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. I am no use for a clerk, because I do not understand shorthand. You deal with her.
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