’ ‘How do I know that?’ demanded Jack. ‘Well, nothing,’ uttered her betrothed crossly, before Gerald could answer. 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. Her mind turned and accused itself of having been cold and hard. Wood. Ah! but you can’t imagine what you are to me and what you mean to me! I suppose there is something mystical and wonderful about all women.
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