The lady murmured briefly to her husband, and then tucked her hand into Alderley’s arm. Mrs. Wild will hang me. Profoundly. Sheppard, hastily; "is that the name?" "Ay, ay, now I look again it is Trenchard. Then she went below. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. Courtlaw stood up. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself.
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