"You are a paragon of prudence and discretion," rejoined the woollen-draper, drawing his chair closer to hers. It was bad luck to go to Canongate. You must come and tell me all about it, although I am not sure whether we shall forgive you for not having written to any of us. And I passed myself off as Meysey Hill, and since—then—I haven’t had a minute’s peace. She whipped round suddenly, and discovered the woman wedged into the corner by the window, keeping out of the way.
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