He learnt that his sister was privately married—the name or rank of her husband could not be ascertained—and living in retirement in an obscure dwelling in the Borough, where she had given birth to a son. “It really seems as if we shall have to put down marigolds altogether next year,” Aunt Molly repeated three times, “and do away with marguerites. “No, I must have had hope lurking somewhere too. “Why?” He inquired. She laughed a little bitterly. Every one took him for the millionaire, and he had lost his head about me.
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