He renewed his supplications to Sharples, but with no better success than heretofore; and the greater part of the night was passed by him and the poor widow, whose anxiety, if possible, exceeded his own, in the most miserable state imaginable. Sir John filled his glass with trembling hand. “I don’t see what else I could have said,” he remarked. Ray Plote was most certainly feeling restless, what if he had left the house for the evening? She needed to eat.
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