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She calls us her guests, but in reality we are her prisoners. "Why came she here?" "She could not resist the hand of fate which drew her hither," replied Sir Cecil, mournfully. "Did I hear you …" began McClintock. He got up brusquely. "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. Her mouth was an effective tourniquet. ‘Her own,’ Gerald replied. ’ It is the Press who find her out.
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