"And now, widow," he continued, "attend to the next verse, for it consarns a friend o' yours. He is steeped in the conventions. “Queer letters he writes,” she said. —What do you know of Thames?— Where is he?" "Don't agitate yourself, dearest girl," rejoined the woollen-draper; "or I shall never be able to commence my relation. ’ ‘Oui, mais—safe.
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