And Lady Trafford having been carried down stairs, and placed within it, the postboy drove off, at a rapid pace for Barnet. Entering the house, he found himself in a narrow passage leading to the back stairs. The carpenter did not hesitate a moment. She was marvellously pretty, but he was not quite sure—yet—that it was advisable for him to sit with her in so public a place. I am apparently a beast, a pig and an imbecile, too, if memory serves me. “I don’t see what else I could have said,” he remarked.
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