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The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. "Zounds! what's that!" he cried, as the noise of a scuffle was heard behind them. The wall of the sky, the wall of the horizon, the wall behind which each human being hid—the wall behind which she herself was hiding! If only her mother had lived, her darling mother! Presently the unhappy puzzlement left her face; and an inward glow began to lighten it. If Miss Charvill should take it into her head to dash off on some foolish errand, go with her by all means. “It was inevitable,” he declared. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. “But, my dear!” said Ann Veronica’s aunt. Norris informed me," returned Charcam, respectfully; "and there's a person without, anxious for an audience, whom, with submission, I think your honour would desire to see. ’ ‘But she must have known I’d longed to hear of you. Charley Pevenill was our host. D. Clotilde’s stunning green eyes were reflected in the gazes of the tender young children, but their faces had been hollow and sunken, their hair matted, and their clothing in bad need of repair.

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