"Ah!" he exclaimed, "a letter, beginning 'dearest Aliva,'—that's your mother's name, Thames. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. In vain he fondly urged his suit, And, all in vain, the question put; She answered,—"Mr. His hug became an embrace. Don't worry about me. As to his mother, I've no pity for her.
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