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Cold drops stood upon Wood's brow, as he encountered this obstacle. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. Arrived at Paddington, he struck across Marylebone Fields,—for as yet the New Road was undreamed of,—and never moderated his speed until he reached the city. She glanced into her companion’s face, and she saw there strange things. They send you every good wish.
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