“You remember the man in Paris who used to follow me about—Meysey Hill they called him?” He nodded. He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. I shall lose my fees and the laced coat. She moaned, having failed in her mission to find her mother and her God. No fear o' that. "Yes," answered the girl.
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