The passion of pent-up speech compelled action of some sort. Earles said, rubbing his hands together, “by post. "Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. "It won't do, widow," said he, drawing near her, while she shrank from his approach, "so you may spare your breath. Angelina's distress over these mischances was pathetic.
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