“Why should one pretend?” she whispered. She reached a tiny yellow-fronted cottage covered with flowering creepers, and entered the front room by the wide-open window. What in the world was the wench up to now? For it must be she. " "How had he offended you?" inquired the widow. Wood," said Jonathan, advancing towards him, and speaking in a low tone, "the secret of your adopted son's birth is known to me. His relation of the murder of Sir Rowland petrified even his fierce auditors. Why, he can scarcely be twenty. "I am sorry.
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