‘Still—here? Wasting your—time. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. She had never even brought a friend home in her time at the Becks, let alone been asked on dates. "I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. Were Captain Darrell to offer you his hand, would you accept it?" "Your impertinence deserves very different treatment, Sir," said Winifred; "but, to put an end to this annoyance, I will tell you—I would not. "Speak plainly. “Non. “No, it was simple. Would she were alive to back my suit!" "This is beyond all endurance," said Winifred, striving to withdraw her hand.
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