Daughters were not like sons. " That was true, thought Spurlock. " "Don't worry about that. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. But they were too late. The terrors and anxieties of the last few months seemed to have fallen from her, to have passed away like an ugly dream, dismissed with a shudder even from the memory. ’ ‘Quite right, Gerald,’ approved Lucilla. He came over to me. Your name?" "Owen Wood," replied the carpenter; "I've no reason to be ashamed of it.
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