"Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. Then she turned, and entering the inner room, commenced to dress hastily for the street. “I am under police surveillance,” she said. Sebastian drew over to her and lifted her chin from her chest. ‘Precisely. Her heavy pistol came up again, although she did not rise. ” She closed her mouth. “Then you—you will?” A long pause.
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