"The poor young man!" sighed Angelina. There is the key. "Yes, sir," said McClintock, as he sat down; "that's South Sea stuff, that yarn of yours. Do you think it’s nothing to me to have my daughter running about London looking for odd jobs and disgracing herself?” “Sha’n’t get odd jobs,” said Ann Veronica, wiping her eyes. It is not a dissipated face.
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