In the centre of the upper gallery was a spacious saloon, appropriated to the governors of the asylum. . This was not exactly what the woollen-draper desired. A crisis had been reached, and she was almost glad it had been reached. And, if it had not been for a taste for plotting, which was continually getting him into scrapes, he might have been accounted a respectable member of society. He begged their attention for the next turn. There was a pause, and then the front door slammed.
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