"Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. "I never stand upon ceremony where I know I shall be welcome. “If only I could afford another!” she thought regretfully. She regarded the young man coldly. Moments are ages now. "I fear we're too late," he whispered to Thames. Rhea writhed and scuttled about like a crab.
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