I’ve muddled all this business. ‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask. My wife doesn’t understand, doesn’t understand now. Of course, I don't believe she's what you would call flush. But it is my fault. Already Cosette was her chosen friend. An old man with a bent back who limped in, slow and stiff, leaning heavily on a cane. After an affectionate parting with Winifred, Thames was conducted by the carpenter to his sleeping apartment—a comfortable cosy chamber; such a one, in short, as can only be met with in the country, with its dimity-curtained bed, its sheets fragrant of lavender, its clean white furniture, and an atmosphere breathing of freshness. . " "I shall require them as well," rejoined Sheppard; "and your boots.
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