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. It’s just because all that side of your life hasn’t fairly begun. "I beg pardon, Sir," replied Jack, with the accent and manner of the janizary; "I was betrayed into the exclamation by my surprise that anything in which Sir Rowland Trenchard was interested could have reference to so humble a person as Mrs. "Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred.
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