" "Dear mother, don't say so," returned Winifred. Still—” Then, with incredible and obviously deliberate stupidity, and a voice as flat as her own, he asked, “Who is the man?” Her spirit raged within her at the dumbness, the paralysis that had fallen upon her. Mr. She hated the manor. In consequence of the encouragement thus offered to dishonesty, and the security afforded to crime, this quarter of the Borough of Southwark was accounted (at the period of our narrative) the grand receptacle of the superfluous villainy of the metropolis. “You were talking to that fellow Ramage to-day—in the Avenue. To perdition with them all. A sarcastic smile seemed to play upon the chief-taker's lips; and abashed at his own irresolution, the lad went on. “Yes, I see that. Leaning upon a gate he looked down into the valley. ‘Shall we abandon the guard, then, sir?’ ‘Certainly not. Ramage demurred.
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