“I wouldn’t. “Queer letters he writes,” she said. I’ve paid for you and helped you, and I’m going to conquer you somehow—if I have to break you to do it. . You desire to know who he was, Sir Rowland. I was stupid—stupid and impulsive beyond measure to burst upon you in this way. The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance.
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