"You've given me more than the amount, Sir Rowland," he said, after he had twice counted them, "or I've missed my reckoning. "Ruth?" "Hoddy!" she cried. . “Julian, please wait. "I am Owen Wood, at your service. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep.
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