On examination it proved to be a flat bar of iron, nearly a yard in length, and more than an inch square. Her lover, Darrell, has embarked upon the Thames, where, if he's not capsized by the squall, (for it's blowing like the devil,) he stands a good chance of getting his throat cut by his pursuers—ha! ha! I tracked 'em to the banks of the river, and should have followed to see it out, if the watermen hadn't refused to take me. “Fearful old fogey! I can’t imagine any sister of yours putting up with him for a moment. I've always been more or less music-mad. It was years before your time. How dare you use my name and sing my songs?” Anna looked at her sister in blank amazement. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint.
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