There wasn’t, I know, between myself and my father. She was supposed to be reading at home, and after breakfast she strolled into the vegetable garden, and having taken up a position upon the staging of a disused greenhouse that had the double advantage of being hidden from the windows of the house and secure from the sudden appearance of any one, she resumed the reading of Mr. Walpole for your apprehension. This man was apparently not sure whether he was Meysey Hill or not.
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