The loneliness of the place somewhat depressed her. "You must take it to Sir Rowland Trenchard's in Southampton Fields. It had been brighter than the rest, for dawn light had come in through high unshuttered casements above the bookshelves. " "Mr. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. “I suppose things have changed?” she said. It would be useless to tell her to go back, even heartless; and yet he could not advise her to go on, blindly, not knowing whether her aunt was dead or alive.
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