‘You said?’ ‘Mrs Sindlesham, your great-aunt, miss. The houses were older, the shops gloomier, and the thoroughfare narrower, it is true; but the bustle, the crowd, the street-like air was the same. Lucy sat in back of Jane Lenihan, who never spoke to her. The fibre of his soul had to be tested, queerly, to make him worthy of you. Sheppard.
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