I am on my way to an aunt who lives in Hartford, Connecticut. She is English! I am sure of that. My heart would speak if it could, for it is very full. “I have no wish,” he said, “to altogether ignore the fact that you are my wife’s sister, and have therefore a certain claim upon me. Manning, in an earnest voice, and waved his hand to the alley of mauve and purple. The less she lived, in fact, the better. If you ride out there, and the place is well worth a visit, for the magnificent view it commands of some of the finest country in the neighbourhood of London,—you are certain to meet with him.
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