"My chickens are hatched, or, at least, nearly so," replied Shotbolt, with increased merriment. CHAPTER I. ’ ‘A pox on the creature,’ swore Mrs Sindlesham, clenching and unclenching her stiff fingers. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. .
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