"Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. Courtlaw sat with folded arms. There’s a great gulf opened, and nobody’s got any plans what to do with us. No wonder that Trenchard, as he gazed at this fearful being, should have some misgivings cross him. The smell that emanated from the opening was abominable.
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