” “I suppose,” said Constance, stencilling away at bright pink petals, “it’s our lot. Kneebone, are these your French noblemen?" "Don't upbraid me!" rejoined the woollen-draper. Here he set down the lamp, and took out a key, and as he did so the expression of his countenance was so atrocious, that Jack felt assured he was not wrong in his suspicions. Quilt was not long in following his example.
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