I'm burning up. Norris, wringing her hands and wepping, the unfortunate lady was placed upon a couch. He found the door ajar, and, to his surprise, perceived little Winifred seated at a table, busily engaged in tracing some design upon a sheet of paper. He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. But he had shown no desire for information, no curiosity. "To be sure I will, my child. I think too much about myself. Nine years ago, I worked in this very house—had a kind indulgent master, whom I robbed—twice robbed, at your instigation, villain; a mistress, whom you have murdered; a companion, whose friendship I have for ever forfeited; a mother, whose heart I have well-nigh broken.
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