He was plainly attired in a riding-dress and boots of the period, and wore a hanger by his side. “Why not?” He repeated, demanding. The warm September sun fell strongly on this part of the grounds, uninterrupted by trees, its light bouncing off the glass in the mansion’s walls. That’s why I wanted your weapons. God! I have cheated myself into a belief that the boy perished! And now my worst fears are realized —he lives!" "As yet," returned Jonathan, with fearful emphasis. “Thank Heaven, they are bringing the hors d’oeuvres.
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