Sydney was strumming over a new song which stood upon the piano. From the further end of the apartment came the low music of a violin. Shotbolt, who had in some degree recovered from the effects of his previous mortification, was thrown into an ecstacy of delight, and could not sufficiently exult over the prisoner. Why must her old nurse discover her precisely at this moment? ‘What are you at now, may I ask?’ Martha glared at the footman.
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