" "Most likely," observed Jonathan, with a slight sneer; "the ghost of some highwayman who has just breathed his last in Newgate, no doubt. “Your mother was a Gypsy. He thrust the smaller weapon into a scabbard that hung from his belt. Secretly she was gratified to be assigned to the rôle of an old traveller. After dinner Ann Veronica went into the drawing-room with Miss Stanley, and her father went up to his den for his pipe and pensive petrography. The affair passed at one leap from a spree to a nightmare of violence and disgust. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. “I would have given up anything to see you your old self again—as you are this evening. I chose you for your strength, your cunning, your intelligence, your great beauty. I—In fact, I dislike him extremely. " Neither spinster noticed the reluctance in the tones.
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