“A fine old place,” cried Mr. hamlyn, regarding the mansion before him.
In the following spring Mr. hamlyn had to go to the West Indies.
"It is from Peveril," said Mr. hamlyn, producing the letter he had spoken of from his pocket.
Suddenly hamlyn struck the table a sounding blow with his fist.
Fred Allerton could see the great old elms that surrounded hamlyn's Purlieu; and his eyes were fixed steadily upon them.
Let me read you the concluding portion of Mr. hamlyn's article.
Mrs. hamlyn gave him his tea in silence, and buttered a dainty bit of toast to tempt him to eat.
"There's a good balance in the bank, of course," hamlyn said.
“I believe it is this house she is gazing at so attentively—and at me,” thought Mrs. hamlyn.
The Archbishop looked steadfastly at hamlyn for a few seconds.