"Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. Oblige me by acting under my guidance in the matter, Sir Rowland. From McClintock's came an infernal tinkletinkle, tump-tump! There was no composing with such a sound hammering upon the ear. Her birthday was four months away, and that, at its extremist point, might give her another five pounds.
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