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Shortly afterwards,—it seemed an age to the anxious mother,—Mr. Why? What is she to you?” “I was there by accident,” Ennison answered. ” She laughed softly. The dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods. "Von't you hear me?—ough! ough!" demanded Sharples, after a pause. She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. One transgression; he was sure of that.
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