“MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. You truly are your mother’s, Lucia. "At the Black Lion in our street," replied Jack, without hesitation. And, by way of checking his housekeeper's familiarity, he pointed significantly to the table. She is, in her way, a dear.
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