"Whist!" exclaimed Terence; "he elevates his glim. “Turn me. It is in vain to struggle against the arm of fate. Then the bridge had arched gateways, bristling with spikes, and garnished (as all ancient gateways ought to be) with the heads of traitors. “By-the-bye, Lady Ferringhall,” he said, “do you know that I am a very great admirer of your sister’s? I wonder if she has ever spoken to you of me.
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