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“You seem to be taking our little joke more seriously than it deserves, Ferringhall,” he remarked. \"You're a shoo in. “Aunt!” she said, “I can’t—” Then she caught a wild appeal in her aunt’s blue eye, halted, and the door clicked upon them. After debating with himself for some time whether he should employ an assistant, or make the attempt alone, his love of gain overcame his fears, and he decided upon the latter plan. The honey on his tongue turned to ashes. ’ ‘I do. She sat down by the paperrack with a general feeling of resemblance to Vivie Warren, and looked through the Morning Post and Standard and Telegraph, and afterward the half-penny sheets. Wearied at length with thinking on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured to compose himself to slumber. Why? Because Howard Spurlock the author dared not risk the liberty of Howard Spurlock the malefactor; because there were still some dregs in this cup of irony. “You know,” he muttered, “you know quite well that your troubles are far more likely to weigh upon me than my own. Her aunt glanced up startled, and then sat very still, with hands that had ceased to work. When will he be up?" "That depends. ” “I suppose so.
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