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“He’s a Fellow of the Royal Society, and he can’t be much over thirty,” said Miss Klegg. ” “I had to,” she repeated. ‘Do not imagine that I will leave poor Jacques. The place was gloomy, with its darkly panelled walls, but it was sparsely furnished. The perspiration stood out upon his forehead. Poor soul! she nearly died when she heard he had robbed his master; and it might have been well if she had done so, for she never afterwards recovered her reason. O'Higgins struck a match and lit his Henry Clay, thereby drawing upon himself the mutual disapproval of the spinsters. Ice had begun to form in the shallows.
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