"Your enemy!" she returned imperfectly comprehending him. His thoughts, indeed, were too painful for utterance, and so acute were his feelings, that, for some time, they quite overcame him. He led her unerringly, pushing her down the narrow stairway that had been the servants’ access to the upper floors, and thence through a small door that led into the chapel. “Larry buys the meat, makes the stuffing. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore.
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