“Let us sit down for a moment,” he had said. ‘Here, miss,’ came faintly from somewhere close at hand. He stopped on the curb-stone, not facing her but as if he was on his way to cross the road, and spoke to her suddenly over his shoulder. On the way, he hired a chair with a couple of stout porters, and ordered them to follow him. The streets were full of colour. "It's wretched enough, indeed, Sir," rejoined the widow; "but, poor as it is, it's better than the cold stones and open streets. I will never wed you.
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