“He was in holy orders, and we were to have been married when he got a living. He will be hanged—hanged—hanged. I have no intention of allowing you to depart in a hurry. "I am Owen Wood, at your service. ” He pronounced this with an air of profound conviction and with his eyes on Ann Veronica’s face. His business has thriven; legacies have unexpectedly dropped into his lap; and, to crown all, he has made a large fortune by a lucky speculation in South-Sea stock,—made it, too, where so many others have lost fortunes, your humble servant amongst the number—ha! ha! In a word, Sir, Mr. ” “Far away?” “I have no idea,” Anna answered. Evidently her foresight has saved me a funeral.
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