“Look here, Ann Veronica,” he began. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. The wish was vain: and, endeavouring to banish every earthly thought, he addressed himself deeply and sincerely to prayer. In the northwest angle, there was a small pen for female offenders, and, on the south, a more commodious enclosure appropriated to the master-debtors and strangers. “Will you come in, Sir John.
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