“He’s a Fellow of the Royal Society, and he can’t be much over thirty,” said Miss Klegg. The ink, contained in a grimy bottle unearthed in the outhouse, was old, and made blotches as soon as it touched the paper. "Give me till to-morrow," implored she, "and if I can bring myself to part with him, you shall have him without another word. It was so easy to forget the imminent threats of being discovered during times of peace.
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