“Can you spare me forty pounds?” she said. She hated the manor. Plote was sleeping or deaf. Ah, no, I have it wrong. Arrived there, their first object was to seek out Davies, by whom they were conducted to the lady's retreat,—a lone habitation, situated on the outskirts of Saint George's Fields in Southwark. It doesn’t matter with me, but there are at least a dozen young women in Mr.
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