There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. She decided not to ask him outright if he wished to make love to her. "Off!" she cried with a prolonged and piercing shriek. ‘The place was full of barbers and military men. The ambitions of his life, and they were many, seemed to lie far away, broken up dreams in some outside world where the way was rough and the sky always grey. And yet, on the very site of the sordid tenements and squalid courts we have mentioned, where the felon openly made his dwelling, and the fraudulent debtor laughed the object of his knavery to scorn—on this spot, not two centuries ago, stood the princely residence of Charles Brandon, the chivalrous Duke of Suffolk, whose stout heart was a well of honour, and whose memory breathes of loyalty and valour. “If I sit here,” he said, standing up before her abruptly, “I shall have to shout.
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