"You are alone?" said one of the spinsters—Prudence Jedson. To compare me to a starving pig. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. One transgression; he was sure of that. Just as he had told Gerald would be the case, there was nothing of interest to hear, especially as he had met the girl in London only last night.
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