"It's wretched enough, indeed, Sir," rejoined the widow; "but, poor as it is, it's better than the cold stones and open streets. Straw and other combustibles being collected, were placed in the middle of the audiencechamber. She looked at me as though I were some unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin in the calendar. I wrote three letters yesterday and tore them up. ’ A faint smile crossed Gerald’s lips. Stanley, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire.
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