"By my shoul!" he exclaimed, smacking his lips, "dat ish goot—very goot. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. She could run away from him, if she wished, as she had run away from her father; she could carry out the original adventure. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own.
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