The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. "Sir Cecil is no more. And at length her penultimate day in Morningside Park dawned for her. If only to say goodbye. Anyhow, it were me as got you down to the wetnurse. She laughed altogether in her old manner. " This she did carefully, but inwardly commenting that he was still in the realm of strange fancies. . .
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