She had found the mausoleum underneath a broken monument. Spurling attended him as his nurse, and, under her care, he speedily revived. He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. ‘Nevertheless, he will neither help me, nor will I seek his help.
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