"I loved you," replied Jack,—"don't start—it is over now—I loved you, I say, as a boy. And Lady Trafford having been carried down stairs, and placed within it, the postboy drove off, at a rapid pace for Barnet. “It was just an hour before teatime,” she remarked. Clearing the few impediments in his way, he soon reached the condemned pew, where it had once been his fate to sit; and extending himself on the seat endeavoured to snatch a moment's repose. ’ ‘I do.
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