" "Most likely," observed Jonathan, with a slight sneer; "the ghost of some highwayman who has just breathed his last in Newgate, no doubt. All at once her heart began to patter queerly. One might have said that these trees grieved for their native soil; and, grieving, refused to bear. ’ ‘I think you understand me very well. Maggot. “Loneliness,” she said, “is a luxury which I never permit myself.
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