The voices went into his ears but left no impression of their import. Its cavernous expanses equaled the upstairs of the house. ToC The tragical affair at Dollis Hill, it need scarcely be said, was a dreadful blow to the family. He wondered if the young fool had any idea of what he had drawn in this tragic lottery called marriage. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. He's now in spring-ankle warehouse with Sir Rowland Trenchard. He stalked her, he stared at her, he craved her, he sidled slinking and propitiatory and yet relentlessly toward her, until at last she awoke from the suffocating nightmare nearness of his approach, and lay awake in fear and horror listening to the unaccustomed sounds of the hotel. “Surely!” he remarked, with an expression of worried appeal.
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