Don't feel fussed upon my account. That night a grave was dug in Willesden churchyard, next to that in which Mrs. "That he couldn't choose any one so agreeable to me. You will only make me hurt you the more. She took the piece of paper and unfolded it in the safety of her lap. "Well—well," grumbled Jonathan, "I suppose I must be content. She possessed what he affected to despise, but secretly worshipped—the innate charm of breeding.
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