'
'Because, Madam, that night,' he continued, twitching her by the
sleeve, 'it happens that we both knew secrets which we didn't
choose to tell, and both knew just the same professionally. And so
the less you say about such things the better, Mrs. Snitchey; and
take this as a warning to have wiser and more charitable eyes
another time. Miss Marion, I brought a friend of yours along with
me. Here! Mistress!'
Poor Clemency, with her apron to her eyes, came slowly in, escorted
by her husband; the latter doleful with the presentiment, that if
she abandoned herself to grief, the Nutmeg-Grater was done for.
'Now, Mistress,' said the lawyer, checking Marion as she ran
towards her, and interposing himself between them, 'what's the
matter with YOU?'
'The matter!' cried poor Clemency. - When, looking up in wonder,
and in indignant remonstrance, and in the added emotion of a great
roar from Mr. Britain, and seeing that sweet face so well
remembered close before her, she stared, sobbed, laughed, cried,
screamed, embraced her, held her fast, released her, fell on Mr.
Snitchey and embraced him (much to Mrs. Snitchey's indignation),
fell on the Doctor and embraced him, fell on Mr. Britain and
embraced him, and concluded by embracing herself, throwing her
apron over her head, and going into hysterics behind it.
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