“No, I am alone,” she answered. As he passed along the main thoroughfare, he heard his own name pronounced, and found that it was a hawker, crying a penny history of his escapes. He had not addressed to her even the most ordinary courtesy of fellow travellers; she doubted that he was even aware of her existence. "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.
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