Smith's melody had subsided. After rifling the room of everything portable, including some of Mrs. "It's an odd-shaped one," rejoined Kneebone, examining it attentively. The air was thick with feelings. The misty caravans of which she had dreamed were become actualities. Her thoughts were deflected from Vivie Warren by the peculiar behavior of a middle-aged gentleman in Piccadilly. . ’ Then she frowned.
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