“I really do not believe,” he announced with satisfaction, “that any one would recognize me. Most of the time, he was hunting and he returned at night. "Heaven have mercy on his soul!" ejaculated Wood. “And you must please not look at me as though I were an executioner,” she declared lightly. " He rose for fear she might touch him again. ” “But Hainault—was—a pal. Her heart was beating with quite unaccustomed vigour, her hands were hot, she was conscious of a warmth in her blood which the summer sunshine was scarcely responsible for. ’ ‘That old fool? Why my brother kept him on I shall never know.
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