"Well—well," grumbled Jonathan, "I suppose I must be content. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. Like the Castle, which it resembled in all respects except that it was destitute even of a barrack-bedstead, the Red Room was reserved for state-prisoners, and had not been occupied since the year 1716, when the jail, as has before been mentioned, was crowded by the Preston rebels. Of course this thing was absolutely impossible. ” Ann Veronica looked at the mildly pensive gray eyes and the comfortable, rather refined face with a penetrating curiosity.
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