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It was the very spot from which his poor mother had gazed after her vain attempt to rescue him at the Mint; but, though he was ignorant of this, her image was alone present to him. Paris copies London. “Thank Heaven, they are bringing the hors d’oeuvres. My business is with Lady Trafford. Wood was heard without, angrily demanding admittance. A vein of conviction mingled with his burlesque. If only to say goodbye.
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