“It is your sister and her husband,” he said. Gerald sympathised with his friend’s irritation. He renewed his supplications to Sharples, but with no better success than heretofore; and the greater part of the night was passed by him and the poor widow, whose anxiety, if possible, exceeded his own, in the most miserable state imaginable. “When did you get home last night, Lucy?” Cathy interrogated through a yawn. Clotilde pried Fritz from Lucy’s left leg where he was clinging. ‘But you said—’ Gerald tutted. The commissionaire smiled. How long he sat there, reeling off this drivel, he never knew. "I see him!—row for your life!" "That's the way to miss him, master," replied Ben coolly. This was what he missed.
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