That could signify nothing except that the doctor had a friend down there somewhere, on an island in one of those archipelagoes. The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance. She had thought it a mirror, because it was her. We all did that in our youth, when first we came upon a fine story; else we were worthless metal indeed. "You read it, Ruth.
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