"Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. They give themselves airs, but so it is. She may have any number of wasting diseases, but they cannot survive in our bodies. Her bonnet dropped off and was trampled into the gutter. ” “Against your will?” He asked. I didn't expect you home before that hour, Sir. .
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