"Your master wants a few table-spoons, child," said Mrs. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. She was breathing hard, dragging for air, half in fright and half because the sudden effort had used up what little air she had managed to draw so briefly. It was only a matter of time. When you've seized him, cough thrice thus,—and two rough-looking gentlemen will make their appearance.
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