“I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. "Where is he?" asked she, in an agitated whisper. Austin was dismissing a host of inquirers who had been attracted thither by the news,—for it had already been extensively noised abroad. If not, keep up your spirits. So far as the eye could reach, the white level road, with its fringe of elm-trees, was empty. The old aspect of the place was gone. So he resolved to try another tack. Sheppard, sinking backwards upon the pallet. Altogether different.
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