Both of them would be committing novel and unforgettable acts. He rambled in an unfortunate monotone, the result of his innate fear of public speaking. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. "No offence, I hope, my dear Mrs. You are nothing of the sort. Anna looked at her curiously, and with sinking heart. For an instant, Gerald wished the rest of the world away that he might go to her and administer appropriate comfort.
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