, Ltd. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. To his relief, Mrs Sindlesham stepped into the breach, grasping her cane and rising painfully from her chair. “Wild horses—not if they have all the mounted police in London—shan’t keep me out. Wet as he was, he felt if he lay down in the grass, he should perish with cold; while, if he sought a night's lodging in any asylum, his dress, stained with blood and covered with dirt, would infallibly cause him to be secured and delivered into the hands of justice. She had no inkling of that insupportable wrong.
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