Returning to Mrs Sindlesham’s chair, he held up the miniature so the face depicted there was turned towards the old lady. ‘My papa he does not wish me to marry the man I choose, and thus he places me in the convent that the nuns may lock me up and I cannot escape. "I suppose it didn't drop through the ceiling, did it? Are you quite sure it's flesh and blood?" asked he, playfully pinching its arm till it cried out with pain. "So you're writing under a nom de plume, eh?" said McClintock, holding out the letter.
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