“You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently. '—'Pretty well,' says I; 'you're not badly off at the Friars, for that matter. “What do you think of that?” he asked. We have only those phantoms called memories, which are the husks of dreams. ’ ‘A pox on the creature,’ swore Mrs Sindlesham, clenching and unclenching her stiff fingers.
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