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 and again. "Never was so addressed in my life—never was so used."

"You are quite confused, sir. You had better withdraw, or I will."

He rose hastily.

"We must leave this place: they must pack up at once."

"Do not hurry my aunt and cousins: give them time."

"No more intercourse: she's not proper."

He made his way to the door; he came back for his handkerchief; he dropped his snuff-box: leaving the contents scattered on the carpet, he stumbled out: Tartar lay outside across the mat—Mr. Sympson almost fell over him: in the climax of his exasperation he hurled an oath at the dog, and a coarse epithet at his mistress.

"Poor Mr. Sympson! He is both feeble and vulgar," said Shirley to herself. "My head aches, and I am tired," she added; and leaning her head upon a cushion, she softly subsided from excitement to repose. One, entering the room a quarter of an hour afterwards, found her asleep. When Shirley had been agitated, she generally took this natural refreshment: it would come at her call.

The intruder paused in her unconscious presence, and said—"Miss Keeldar."

Perhaps his voice harmonized with some dream into which she was passing—it did not startle, it hardly roused her: without opening her eyes, she but turned her head a little, so that her cheek and profile, before hidden by her arm, became visible: