” “Lady Ferringhall! Anna!” he exclaimed. I did think it could be done. The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end. Until that moment, Jarvis had imagined the child to be safe in the wet-nurse’s cottage. "Leave me, Sir; I insist. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable.
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