“Only four spoonsful left,” she declared briskly, “and your turn to buy the next pound, Sydney. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. Some part of the stiff vigour of the man seemed to have subsided. Hill.
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