“She’s my wife,” the man muttered. Hurrying down the Haymarket, he was arrested by a crowd who were collected round a street-singer. "No!" she cried. He had meant to be master of his fate that evening and it had escaped him altogether. ” “Of course,” his friend answered. Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself.
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