” She became aware of her aunt, through the panes of the greenhouse, advancing with an air of serene unconsciousness from among the raspberry canes. The unexpected twist—his disclosure to McClintock—had given Spurlock but temporary relief. It would be an ice storm by midnight if it did not let up. “Dear me,” she said, “I fancy you exaggerate my fame. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct.
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