The fact itself is regrettable enough—regrettable, I fear, is quite an inadequate word. It—it is nothing,’ she said, although with a tremor in her voice. "Aha! my lad!" he cried without appearing to regard the pain of the wound; "now I'll show you no quarter. "Besides, you'll not be able to get in without me. Do sit down, dear boy. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living.
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