CHAPTER XVIII. “It’s either now or never,” she said to herself. She shut her lips hard, her jaw hardened, and she set herself to struggle with him. I am going to ask him to finish it. Spurlock grew cold. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. Only sat, staring at him, a puzzled look in her face. —Strype's Stow. Scarcely any one noticed the full measure of her consternation. Accordingly, he stopped the coach, dismounted, and hastened towards the assemblage, which, he was glad to find, consisted chiefly of a posse of watchmen and other guardians of the night. Particularly when it was obvious the fellow was one of these pitiful wretches weak enough to allow themselves to be ousted from their inheritances and thus obliged to come seeking succour of their neighbours. And she—’ ‘She!’ interrupted the young lady crossly.
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