“You’ll get me to allude to it, but you’d have to torture me to admit it. He looked at her in some embarrassment. “Your mother was a Gypsy. Towards this box Sharples directed his steps, and, unlocking a hatch in the door, disclosed a recess scarcely as large, and certainly not as clean, as a dog-kennel. All at once she became aware of sounds outside. Let me take the satchel, sir.
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