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Rh

Hark; he's coming now. Good luck to you. [Exit.

My dear Mr. Smitchenstault; dear deceiver!

No honey words.

What's the matter?

Some one pursues me: hide me somewhere.

Mercy on us! (opening the door of a small closet.) Go in there. (Puts him in.) I'll get off altogether. (Runs to the concealed door by which had gone out.) She has shut it so hard, stupid idiot, that it won't open. What shall I do? O I remember. (Opens an old wardrobe press, and creeps into it.)

No; I could not be deceived. I'll take my oath it was he. If I had not stumbled in the gallery at that other cursed door, I should have got up to him.

Surely, Sir, your eyes have deceived you: it