In the small breakfast parlour of Oulton, a pretty girl, Miss Alice Maybell, with her furs and wrappers about her, and a journey of forty miles before her--not by rail--to Wyvern, had stood up to hug and kiss her old aunt, and bid her good-bye. “Now, do sit down again; you need not be in such a hurry--you’re not to go for ten minutes or more,” said the old lady; “do, there’s a darling.”…
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