" "You have no son," rejoined Sir Rowland, moodily. "The pocket-book you prigged contained the letters I wanted. "I had one," answered his sister, in a mournful voice; "and, perhaps, I have one still. And now, my love," she added, with a relenting look, "I'm content to make up our quarrel. ” “Any one could see that the girls were ladies,” Ennison murmured.
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