” The lady in black satin looked at the pile of luggage outside and hesitated. ‘Martha was my wet-nurse? But she is unmarried. That he’s come here at all shows he’ll stop at nothing. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. “But how can you?” asked Constance.
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