Good-bye, for the pressent—ha! ha!" And, laughing loudly at his own facetiousness, he quitted the Lodge. “You see, her sister is married to Ferringhall, isn’t she? and she herself must be drawing no end of a good screw here. He carried her in his arms up the steps, like a bride on her honeymoon. “Ruin me? Think of me with fondness? Are you dying of cancer or something?” He demanded.
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