A male voice, vibrant with terror, yelled out hoarsely. It appeared he had already ordered dinner and wine, and the whiskered waiter waved in his subordinate with the soup forthwith. ‘What are you, a nincompoop? She was Nicholas’s wife, of course. In this letter, which is addressed to my ill-fated mother, he speaks of his friendship for Sir Rowland, whom it seems he had known abroad; but entreats her to keep the marriage secret for a time, for reasons which are not fully developed.
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