In the second, she was wretchedly poor, and assailed by temptations of which you can form no idea. What can she be? The wife of a country tradesman, or a duchess? And such a meek little husband too. It was an awful moment—so awful, that every other feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended. “I had a faint idea once that things were as you say they are, but the affair of the ring—of the unexpected ring—puzzled me. With a drawn cutlass in one hand and a cocked pistol in the other, Blueskin rushed up stairs.
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