“Sir John,” her aunt repeated, with thin emphasis, “is coming to see your sister. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. “Oh, I can’t thank you. Wild's. ‘Perhaps I could indeed rescue you if only you would confide in me.
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