Henry Clay, thirteen cents in Hong-Kong and two-bits in that dear old New York. The first set of occupations seemed to her to be altogether too domestic and restricted; for the latter she was dreadfully handicapped by her want of experience. "My father!" she whispered. It is not you who runs the risk of going dinnerless to-morrow. You are a girl with very little. You belong to me, and I have waited long enough.
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