I have counted you, and always hoped to count you, the best of my friends. There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves. And yet to Spurlock it was only the title of a story he would some day write. With this view, he hurried to the spot where he had left the post-chaise, and found it drawn up at the road-side, the postilion dismounted, and in charge of a couple of farming-men. ” “What was wrong with them?” Michelle asked timidly. " "How long will you be here?" "To-morrow night.
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