“Her husband was a county councillor, and she has a niece who comes to see her in a carriage. Close behind him stood the tall gaunt figure of Marvel, with his large bony hands, his scraggy neck, and ill-favoured countenance. She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. You do not need my compliments. We'll have some fun down there at my place, Spurlock; but we'll probably bore your wife to death.
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