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“You say you want a vote,” said Mr. "Rachel," said Mr. She had tried to shift the subject of conversation away from herself and was even managing successfully until Chen the father addressed her. “Does he ever ask about me?” She asked, feeling like a cuckolded old maid. “Round midnight, I think. The old man Pottiswick, still grumbling, much to Melusine’s disgust, had gone on his errand to his daughter’s house some two miles distant. But there was no sign from her. He rose at once to his feet and turned a white face upon her. The drawers at the moment were too busy to attend to her, and she would have seized the opportunity of examining, unperceived, the assemblage within, through a little curtained window that overlooked the adjoining chamber, if an impediment had not existed in the shape of Baptist Kettleby, whose portly person entirely obscured the view.
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