‘What are you, a nincompoop? She was Nicholas’s wife, of course. Possessed, at one time, of a share in the South Sea stock, he conceived himself worth twenty thousand pounds. What was the matter with the dress? She could not see. When her shock and the headache subsided, and she remembered that she had been reading the letter when Gosse had accosted her, she looked for it in vain. Pardon what I have said, Madam.
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