I came to London to look for you, and somehow the figure I saw in my dreams had got mixed up with you. She was taken dreadfully ill on the road, with spasms and short breath, and swoonings,—worse than ever she was before. ‘Would you have me face my maker with that on my conscience? If I’d died, there’d have been no one to tell you, for your father would not have done. ” He called for a hansom.
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