155 The ringing doorbell jarred her from her stupor. " "Iss, Massa Ireton," replied the black. His cheeks were puffy, and his eyes blood-shot. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. Will you take me?" However tempting Mrs.
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