"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. You could walk the city streets and with every blink you could take in a new sight of beauty so great that your heart would weep for it. While he was stirring his tea, she ran and fetched the comb. Manning. McClintock did not exaggerate his ability to read faces.
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