She had a few acquaintances, English gentlemen, but she lived with her sister—was a lady. " "And why not?" asked Kneebone, eagerly. Wood, in a whisper, as he filled a rummer to the brim, not to forget the health of the Chevalier de Saint George—a proposition to which the lady immediately responded by drinking the toast aloud. It isn’t what I have been but what I am. She heard her husband’s heavy tread descending the stairs, and the wheels of his carriage as he drove off.
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