Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. "You don't recollect me, I presume?" premised the stranger, taking a seat. And so gentle as the poor creature is, when she's not in her wild fits—it would melt a heart of stone to see her. It is positively hateful to think of it. ‘If you’ll have the goodness, missie, to move yourself out of the way,’ he said aggrievedly, ‘and let us at him, we might have a chance of doing just that.
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