Please don’t tell anyone, mister. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. It doesn’t matter with me, but there are at least a dozen young women in Mr. Lucy was filled with happiness, it was her third Christmas at the Becks. He pulled rein at the sight of her, saluted, and regarded her with his rather too protuberant eyes.
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