McClintock was amused. "Heaven have mercy on his soul!" ejaculated Wood. "You are, Sir," thundered Jonathan; "and, unless you find him, you shan't hold your place a week. Figg! In a few minutes, all will be over. . You need have no apprehensions about him, Sir Rowland. "My coat!" he repeated, his glance burning into hers. She shrugged her shoulders. He thanked God for this talent of his.
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