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For Mr Jarvis was beside himself when the letter come from Mr Charvill and he knew he’d lost you as well as Miss Mary. In one angle of the room stood a disused fire-place, with a rusty grate and broken chimney-piece; in the other there was a sort of box, contrived between the wall and the boards, that looked like an apology for a cupboard. “Were you thinking of private apartments, a boarding-house or an hotel?” she asked. Have you ever voted, Mr. They had heard nothing, seen nothing.
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