There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. “Idiots!” she said, when she heard this pandemonium, and with particular reference to this young lady with the throaty contralto next door. Everyone will grumble to you confidentially—Miss Ellicot, she’s our swagger young lady, you know—up there, next to Miss White, she will tell you that it is so out of the world here, so far away from everyone one knows. Gerald exchanged a puzzled glance with his friend. "He is," replied a portly personage, arrayed in a gorgeous yellow brocade dressing-gown, lined with cherry-coloured satin, and having a crimson velvet cap, surmounted by a gold tassel, on his head. His analytical bent saved him many times, though he was not sensitive to this. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene.
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