Spurlock began to munch his water-chestnuts. I have been thinking—I will go to my wife again. "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. But I do hope, Vee, I do hope—this is the end of these adventures. They had changed identities absolutely. She stared out of the paned glass window, watching the trees being blown bare by the gale force.
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