"Damnation!" cried Kneebone. "I am Owen Wood, at your service. Is all your house on the same scale of magnificence as this, Annabel?” she asked, looking round. Me, you may have. “Why not?” He asked. We shall both, I hope, live to enjoy our shares—long after Thames Darrell is forgotten—ha! ha! A third of your estate I accept. He looked exactly as she had dreamed him, handsome, rigidly dressed in a black suit, his hair still half gray, his eyes green and flashing like a cat’s.
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