She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village. It had been part of her wedding trousseau, a gift from her family to his. " "Hold your tongue!" cried Mrs. —Though if my name should become as famous as theirs, it wouldn't much matter. She quickened her pace, and so did he, talking at her slightly averted ear. ‘Was you following, too, miss?’ ‘Certainly I was following. Only she hadn’t.
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