I often think of those delightful evenings in Paris. "I am so excessively fond of snuff. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. It is positively hateful to think of it. On Tuesday night, she was rather better, and I had left her for a short time, as I thought, asleep on the sofa in the little parlour of which she is so fond —" "Well," exclaimed Jack. “Good-looking rascal she met at Worthing. . " "From some of your associates?" "From your uncle, from my uncle,—Sir Rowland Trenchard.
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