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It is a matter of degree. . The gale had become a hurricane: that hurricane was the most terrible that ever laid waste our city. But to confess about Gerald— no, a thousand times. "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. At the bottom of the trunk I found two of my mother's dresses. Here was the place behind the shed where she had used to hide from Roddy’s persecutions, and here the border of herbaceous perennials under whose stems was fairyland. "Then you'll never know more than this," retorted Blueskin, with a grin of satisfaction;—"they're in a place of safety, where you'll never find 'em, but where somebody else will, and that before long.
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