‘You were right, miss. The miserable woman staggered, uttered a deep groan, and fell senseless on the straw. All houses of means had not only a maid but usually a whole staff of servants. Shotbolt, who had in some degree recovered from the effects of his previous mortification, was thrown into an ecstacy of delight, and could not sufficiently exult over the prisoner. His lawful wife; but nothing more; beyond that she was only an idea, a trust. The material cares of life hang about your neck like a millstone. Her head rose. Smith obeyed.
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