“I do not know any one of that name. “Alone, dear?” “Yes, aunt. His clothes had evidently seen some service, and were plentifully begrimed with the dust of the workshop. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage.
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