“Let us escape,” she said. Eyebrows knitting, she looked towards the ground a few feet away from him, guiltily. Pearls too! I mean it. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. Gentlemen! a glass of brandy will be no bad finish to our meal. The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year.
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