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Armadale

Miss Milroy took up her father's pen, drew it through the last line of the
advertisement, and wrote the altered address with her own hand as follows:
"Apply, by letter, to M., Post-office, Thorpe Ambrose, Norfolk."
"There!" she said, bustling to her place at the breakfast-table. "The advertisement
may go to London now; and, if a governess does come of it, oh, papa, who in the
name of wonder will she be? Tea or coffee, Mr. Armadale? I'm really ashamed of
having kept you waiting. But it is such a comfort," she added, saucily, "to get all
one's business off one's mind before breakfast!"
Father, daughter, and guest sat down together sociably at the little round table, the
best of good neighbors and good friends already.
Three days later, one of the London newsboys got his business off his mind
before breakfast. His district was Diana Street, Pimlico; and the last of the
morning's newspapers which he disposed of was the newspaper he left at Mrs.
Oldershaw's door.
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