She trailed him to his apartment and a black door that read 727 in solemn gold-tone lettering. —"Oh! about that boy, Thames Darrell. His face brightened at the sight of her, and he came toward her. As the woollendraper's back was towards him, he did not perceive him, but continued his passionate addresses. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. He could not tell by the look of her whether she was glad or sorry that presently she would be free.
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