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Nothing but the publicity of the place and the recollection of that terrible constituency kept him from attempting some perfectly respectful but unmistakable evidence of his sympathy. “I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall,” he said quietly. Yes; she had heard the music the night before. A short way off in the fields he descried a sort of shed or cow-house, and thither he contrived to drag his weary limbs. And nowhere could I obtain the slightest information.

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