” “But I’m quite equal to taking care of myself, aunt. And Lady Trafford having been carried down stairs, and placed within it, the postboy drove off, at a rapid pace for Barnet. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. ‘She knows what she’s up against. Mind, I, Baptist Kettleby, say so.
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