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"You must take it to Sir Rowland Trenchard's in Southampton Fields. We do not remember to have met with a single individual, reported to be under petticoat government, who was not content with his lot,—nay, who so far from repining, did not exult in his servitude; and we see no way of accounting for this apparently inexplicable conduct—for which, among other phenomena of married life, various reasons have been assigned, though none entirely satisfactory to us—except upon the ground that these domineering dames possess some charm sufficiently strong to counteract the irritating effect of their tempers; some secret and attractive quality of which the world at large is in ignorance, and with which their husbands alone can be supposed to be acquainted. “Rhea will return soon. ‘The old man who lives here, idiot. " "I'm sorry I can't indulge you," replied her master, a little piqued. Things seem to come rather easily. You desire to know who he was, Sir Rowland. She was sorry to find Ramage a little disposed to be melancholy. A woman’s shoe lay on the threadbare carpeting. "Dawn Pearl!… come here!" She moved to the side of the bed.
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