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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. "Mother! dear mother!" cried Jack, folding her to his breast. " The chair was then rapidly put in motion, and speedily disappeared. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page.
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