She had expected a love story; and love was totally absent. He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. Only I do not care to write about anything else. Oh, what’s his name? It’s on the tip of my tongue. By the time she arrived at the Beck’s doorstep, the morning was risen.
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