His mother smiled in return, an act that brightened her thin face. "Ah! Owen Wood, is it you?" cried David in astonishment. “You cannot! Oh, you cannot. In this state of knowledge you will be horribly, irrevocably, alone. "Devil!" cried the widow, catching his arm, and gazing with frantic eagerness in his face, "how many years will you give my son before you execute your terrible threat?" "NINE!" answered Jonathan sternly. "He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter.
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