He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face. "Mercy on us!" cried he, as a thrill of apprehension ran through his frame. "As it's getting late, and the porter may be gone to bed," he observed; "I'll take the pass-key, and let myself in.
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