" "It matters not who I am," replied Jonathan, taking the money. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. After all, it was what she had been praying for—and Annabel could not have known her address. “I really do not believe,” he announced with satisfaction, “that any one would recognize me. A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood. Every house-top, every window, every wall, every projection, had its occupants. “They seem smaller, you know, even physically smaller,” she said. The servants had left the room. Sulphurous poisons assaulted her nostrils as she threw the stone to one side of its resting place.
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