"My son! my dear, dear son!" returned Mrs. It was denied him, for as he closed his eyes—though but for an instant—the whole scene of his former visit to the place rose before him. "What is it?" demanded the woollen-draper, as he returned to the table, and took up a glass. “My hand! This isn’t the place. “Don’t!” cried Ann Veronica, struggling faintly, and he released her.
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