And she defies me. I should like to have had you forgive me. A message was dispatched from Florence that she was to again receive her future husband. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. You had better go to bed. ‘Now let’s have it. “He wants me to have dinner at his parent’s house tonight,” still looking at a series of spots on the carpeting. ‘You are Mrs Ibstock, I think,’ she said eagerly.
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