He felt that he might soon be separated—perhaps, for ever—from the fond little creature he held in his arms, whom he had always regarded with the warmest fraternal affection, and the thought of how much she would suffer from the separation so sensibly affected him, that he could not help joining in her grief. About noon, next day, he was able to move; and the gale having abated, he set out homewards with his little charge. She could feel Martin’s eyes boring into her as she entered the room, her own personal Farhat. Nobody could possibly find him now. “And what is it all about, Veronica?” he asked, with a deliberate note of irony, looking at her a little quizzically over his glasses. "Here, take this and get the letter and open and read it. ToC London, at the period of this history, boasted only a single bridge.
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