Lord help him! he's the very image of his father. “I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. ’ ‘You ain’t never,’ gasped Pottiswick. He pushed her to his bed, little more than a cot, and pulled off her clothes. Rushing towards the entrance of the well-hole, Blueskin touched the secret spring.
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