"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. " "My God!" cried Trenchard, stunned by the intelligence, "I have killed her. He did not so much cut into this conversation as loom over it, for he was a tall, if rather studiously stooping, man. Not a word was uttered by the assemblage; but a hush of expectation reigned throughout.
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