I am on my way to an aunt who lives in Hartford, Connecticut. Sheppard. Jonathan, however, was nowhere to be seen. I deemed it more prudent to send him to the Dark House than to bring him here, in case of any search after him by his adoptive father—the carpenter Wood. He was ill at ease, though he would not have confessed his disquietude even to himself. Anna was sitting before the fire a little distance from him—Ennison himself remained standing. Feel for the lock, and prize it open,—you don't need to be told how. You had better let me go again.
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