"Then I'll have it before to-morrow morning," said the keeper of the New Prison, to himself. Anna sighed as she reflected that her sister had simply revelled in her indiscretions. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. “An uncle in New York is dead, and has left him loads of money. I have healed and I am still your wife!\" She looked at him desperately, his eyes illuminated by firelight.
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