It was only a few months ago that I told you you must come to London, and you only laughed at me. But since you assure me you didn't write the letters, and Mr. "Your business, Sir?" returned the other, stiffly. A nurse was at the other end of the room. “You seem to be taking our little joke more seriously than it deserves, Ferringhall,” he remarked. You have to come over to my house. He answered with the greatest assurance, that he knew nothing whatever of the matter—had seen no pocket-book, and no associate to give up.
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