Gerald was instantly on the alert. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. I didn’t allow myself to see things as they were in those days; now I do. The key is in my trousers. ’ Mrs Prudence Sindlesham, a widow of several years’ standing, so she told Gerald, was a scarecrow of a female, long and lank of limb in a figure that had once been willowy. Where's Jonathan?" Inquiries were instantly made after that individual, but he was nowhere to be found.
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