‘Don’t, miss,’ uttered the boy. If he adhered to this policy—to keep away from her inconspicuously—she would forget the name by night, and to-morrow even the bearer of it would sink below the level of recollection. Her family are solid West End people, Kensington people. The ruffian caught hold of her hair, and held her fast. He had barely settled at his desk in his library, when he was disturbed by two morning callers. The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them.
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