And Lady Trafford having been carried down stairs, and placed within it, the postboy drove off, at a rapid pace for Barnet. America, the land of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to fly thitherward. . It will be hot work, but it must be done at once. "All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. That is why I am glad that she has gone to London. The turnkey looked round the next moment, but the manoeuvre escaped his observation. CHAPTER VIII.
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