” “Ah!” Sir John exclaimed. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. "If Jack would come to my house, I'd contrive to hide him," remarked a buxom dame.
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