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My only love is for my poor lost son. David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall. ‘What would you? The nuns they would not believe me, and so it was not possible for me to stay. Is there any truth, do you suppose, in this rumoured marriage?” “I know nothing,” Courtlaw answered hurriedly. I know all about it. "Have you never an out-o-the-vay corner, into vich you could shtow these troublesome warmint?" observed Abraham. My mind is full of ideas and images that I have been cherishing and accumulating—dreams of travelling side by side, of lunching quietly together in some jolly restaurant, of moonlight and music and all that side of life, of seeing you dressed like a queen and shining in some brilliant throng—mine; of your looking at flowers in some old-world garden, our garden—there are splendid places to be got down in Surrey, and a little runabout motor is quite within my means.
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