"Not so, Sir Rowland," returned Jonathan; "you are my prisoner. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. And now, come and sit by me, my dear, and let's have a little quiet chat together. \" Lucy winced. The girl is in it as deeply as he is. Stanley came home at a quarter to six—an earlier train by fifteen minutes than he affected—his sister met him in the hall with a hushed expression.
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