She sat in deep thought for a moment or two, and then nodding briskly, dipped the pen in the ink again and began to write. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. While they were thus occupied, a maid-servant entered the room, and stated that a person was without who had a packet for Captain Darrell, which must be delivered into his own hands. ‘You’ll make shadows.
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