’ She was silent for a space, and it was evident that this part of the story was still too painful to be recalled with ease. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. She was going to him soon and certainly, going to his strong, embracing arms. The hills surrounded her cave home protectively. “I am sick of it. "Tom," continued Kneebone, calling to the shop-boy, "don't go home. " "That's but a short distance from here, sir. He was scarcely concealed when he heard the horsemen, who perceived they had overshot their mark, ride back.
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