Lucy was filled with happiness, it was her third Christmas at the Becks. "Quite sorry, my good friend, there should have been any misunderstanding between us," observed the woollen-draper. But Gerald kept to a casual note. “Tell me his name,” he said, “and I promise that he shall never trouble you. ‘You are dead, you,’ he yelled back, leaping into the seat of the final pew. " "May be," returned the man gravely. “I confess it.
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