"What do you think of your nephew, Sir Rowland?" whispered Jonathan, who sat with his back towards Thames, so that his features were concealed from the youth's view. At last—I told a story. To his relief, Mrs Sindlesham stepped into the breach, grasping her cane and rising painfully from her chair. “Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. MANNING,” she had begun.
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