"'Odd's-my-life! what's this?" exclaimed the carpenter, looking at the superscription of one of them. Lights gleamed from the lower rooms, and, on a nearer approach to the building, the sound of revelry might be heard from within. Buried under various ancestral sixteenths, smothered under modern thought, liberty of action and bewildering variety of flesh-pots, it was still alive to the extent that it needed only his present state to resuscitate it in all its peculiar force. “Don’t be too sure of that,” she answered enigmatically.
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