"If you expect me to be surprised," said her brother Solomon, "I am
not surprised; I knew you were here; I know of most people who are
here. If you really don't want to endanger my existence--which I half
believe you do--go your ways as soon as possible, and let me go mine.
I am busy. I am an official."
"My English brother Solomon," mourned Miss Pross, casting up her
tear-fraught eyes, "that had the makings in him of one of the best
and greatest of men in his native country, an official among
foreigners, and such foreigners! I would almost sooner have seen the
dear boy lying in his--"
"I said so!" cried her brother, interrupting. "I knew it. You want
to be the death of me. I shall be rendered Suspected, by my own
sister. Just as I am getting on!"
"The gracious and merciful Heavens forbid!" cried Miss Pross. "Far
rather would I never see you again, dear Solomon, though I have ever
loved you truly, and ever shall. Say but one affectionate word to
me, and tell me there is nothing angry or estranged between us, and I
will detain you no longer."
Good Miss Pross! As if the estrangement between them had come of any
culpability of hers.
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