"Mother—dear mother! Once again, I beseech you to listen to me. Wood," added she in a hollow voice, and with a ghastly look, "gin may bring ruin; but as long as poverty, vice, and ill-usage exist, it will be drunk. ‘Why, you have heard yourself all that is being said. ” “You can’t be that,” said Ann Veronica, wisely. You are an artist by the Divine right of birth, but whatever form of expression may come to you at some time it will not be painting. Diamonds! You shall have all that you can carry away, sacks full if you like. This way, Sir Rowland. “If you must go on with it,” said Hetty, “now’s your time. Wood, Sir," he added, with much emotion, "is one of the best of men, and would be the happiest, were it not that—" and he hesitated.
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