What little happiness I had I was forced to steal. And as he gave back the portfolio to Sir Rowland he contrived, unobserved, to slip the precious document into his sleeve, and from thence into his pocket. “My darling!” he said, clasping her resolutely in his arms, “my dearest!” “Mr. I’m a little tired. But all this business has driven it clean out of my head. Time enough to do so when she has her affairs settled—if she can settle them. The way it had happened was stupid, absurd.
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