Why, he can scarcely be twenty. His hair had begun to gray, his belly had just begun to round. There was—a service. Fearful that she had given herself away, she sank back down onto her stool. "The gentleman is a stranger to me, Poll," replied the woollen-draper, with increased embarrassment. The fanatic has no such word in his vocabulary. He went on. ‘Tell me the truth, Melusine. .
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