Wood, in a taunting tone. The doctor nodded to him curtly. “I have spoken too many truths to-night. I thought that I was marrying Meysey Hill, not that creature. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. He won’t have menservants inside the house, and his collection of carriages is only fit for a museum—where most of his friends ought to be, by-the-bye.
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