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"This locket," he said, taking a little ornament attached to a black ribband from his breast, and giving it her,—"do you remember it?" "I do—I do!" cried Winifred. Glancing towards him she saw that a shadow had fallen upon his face. Mrs. ToC Nearly nine years after the events last recorded, and about the middle of May, 1724, a young man of remarkably prepossessing appearance took his way, one afternoon, along Wych Street; and, from the curiosity with which he regarded the houses on the left of the road, seemed to be in search of some particular habitation. Glad you're home safe. There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers. “By-the-bye,” he said, presently, “your sister was married to old Ferringhall the other day, wasn’t she? I saw the notice in the papers. "You want him?" "Please!" said Ruth. “Do you want to ruin me? I shall walk back. Recognising the handwriting, he glanced swiftly at the signature, and uttering an explosive curse, cast the paper from him.
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