He opened his eyes, protestingly, and beheld the realization of his dream. Yet he was in a state of hopeless bewilderment. “But I am your husband,” he said. The drawers at the moment were too busy to attend to her, and she would have seized the opportunity of examining, unperceived, the assemblage within, through a little curtained window that overlooked the adjoining chamber, if an impediment had not existed in the shape of Baptist Kettleby, whose portly person entirely obscured the view.
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