One Friday afternoon, in this pleasant month, it chanced that Mr. Suspicion was in his face. When Mrs. "I never stand upon ceremony where I know I shall be welcome. Her softly intertwined fingers became rigid. Neither your aunt nor I have any other thought but what is best for you. " "A short man, isn't he, about your height, Sir,—with a yellow beard, and a face as sly as a fox's?" "Hem!" replied Wood, coughing slightly to conceal a smile; "the description's not amiss.
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