"Your father—poor imbecile!—believes we ran away together. And she would have to go tomorrow. And Lady Trafford having been carried down stairs, and placed within it, the postboy drove off, at a rapid pace for Barnet. It is not, my dear Veronica, that I think there is any harm in you; there is not. Rowland, meantime, alarmed by the voices, snatched a torch from his attendant, and holding it over the side of the wherry, witnessed the incident just described. ‘I think you know my affianced husband.
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