” “You’ll never pay me. " "Not while Thames Darrell and Sir Rowland live. " "Generous girl!" cried Jack from behind the skreen. “There is no—Good God!” he exclaimed. His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him the world over as a man of the Word. That suggested delicacy; and yet her young body was strong and vital. I'm about to ring for supper. He cannot. "What a very remarkable thing it is," he observed, applying to his snuff-box, "that Thames Darrell, whom we all supposed dead,"—Kneebone in his heart sincerely wished he had been so,—"should turn out to be alive after all. Oh! you haven't got the key—then I must have it, I suppose.
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