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It was clear it must be to-morrow. "However, some one must look after the jail; and they're all gone but me. It wouldn’t be you. "Where did you find it!" asked Wood. "Well, it's a good story. . The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. . That's worth something to me; for I don't mind paying for revenge.
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