Her gown was minimalist compared to those concoctions of boning and lace of long ago, she reflected, but that did not stop it from getting caught on 134 brambles and twigs. Applying his ear to the keyhole, Jack listened, but could detect no sound. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct.
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