"Who are you?" inquired Mrs. ’ For a moment or two there was dead silence in the parlour. She is no more English than that set of beggars over there. . No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. “You do not know what such a relation means. Drink for him had a queer phase. It engulfed them in black, white, and gray. I—listen.
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