"And now, widow," he continued, "attend to the next verse, for it consarns a friend o' yours. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. With this air in our blood, this sunlight soaking us. "Away with him!" exclaimed Sir Rowland, impatiently. Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness.
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