But now it’s beads by the cask—like the hold of a West African trader. She felt sickeningly empty. " "Let me have a glass of brandy," said he, addressing the host. The figure of the girl upon it in plain black dress, standing with her hands behind her, was an undeniable and astonishing likeness of herself. "Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. His destination was the New Mint.
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