She climbed back into the window an hour before sunrise. “Your mother was a Gypsy. Jonathan is in league with Sir Rowland to make away with you. You cannot—shall not retreat. The curtains which she had left drawn were open, and the electric lights were turned on. But a little daughter is one thing and a daughter quite another. Just as the clergyman approached the altar, she perceived a boy steal quickly into the church, and ensconce himself behind the woollen-draper, who, in order to carry on his amatory pursuits with greater convenience, and at the same time display his figure (of which he was not a little vain) to the utmost advantage, preferred a standing to a sitting posture.
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