“Hold on. "Von't you hear me?—ough! ough!" demanded Sharples, after a pause. Perceiving he was about to take leave, Kneebone ventured to ask whom he had had the honour of addressing. She looked more than her sixty odd years, in spite of a still lush head of black hair, streaked with a little grey, which was visible under her cap and of immediate interest to Gerald. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used.
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