"Stolen by a gipsy when scarcely five years old, Constance Trenchard, after various vicissitudes, was carried to London, where she lived in great poverty, with the dregs of society. And so gentle as the poor creature is, when she's not in her wild fits—it would melt a heart of stone to see her. “I have made no progress with my work,” she said slowly, “and the money was gone. After a certain amount of manœuvring, however, he was induced to crawl around, and in a few minutes came to stop again before a tall brightly-painted house, which seemed like an oasis of colour and assertive prosperity in a long dingy row. " "What?" said the doctor, whose thoughts were in something of a turmoil. ” “No doubt. ’ ‘No, perhaps not,’ Gerald agreed with a smile.
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