And Lady Trafford having been carried down stairs, and placed within it, the postboy drove off, at a rapid pace for Barnet. It feels like too much gold-dust clutched in one’s hand. Holding down the light, he perceived that the wounded man had risen to the surface, and was trying to clamber up the slippery sides of the well. WARD, LOCK & CO. The Victorians over-did it a little, I admit. "We may trust him," he added in a whisper; "he is a staunch friend of the good cause.
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