" Not a little perplexed by the mysterious object she had seen, Rachel left the room, and, shortly afterwards returned with the materials of a tolerably good supper;—to wit, a couple of cold fowls, a tongue, the best part of a sirloin of beef, a jar of pickles, and two small dishes of pastry. You have a daughter, no? Madame Ibstock, I think. There was a hint of tears in her voice. She decided to leave this matter until the morrow and devote the morning to settling up with Mr. 1. ‘Nevertheless, you will marry me,’ he snarled. I will take you for thirty-five shillings a week.
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