The watch was again consulted. Earles glanced at it, and his eyes flashed with anger. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. Wood was once a favourite of yours. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. Spurling, (for she it was,) either by her attractions of purse or person, had succeeded in moving the stony heart of Mr. .
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