"I guess who you mean," rejoined Shotbolt. “An uncle in New York is dead, and has left him loads of money. But the fall was too great, and he abandoned the attempt. Nevertheless, she could not prevent a rising excitement as the dawn of the new life drew near to her—a thrilling of the nerves, a secret and delicious exaltation above the common circumstances of existence. \"Lucy, wait up. His room was last at the end of one winding corner. Baptist Kettleby (for so was the Master named) was a "goodly portly man, and a corpulent," whose fair round paunch bespoke the affection he entertained for good liquor and good living. He accepted the glass of wine, and bowed. You've betrayed yourself, Thames. Promise me that you will not disobey the injunctions of her whose memory we must both of us ever revere.
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