"A bad girl?" She put the question as she would have put any question—leveleyed and level-toned. "You are my prisoner. I needed a man the worst kind of way—a man I could keep for at least six months. Old pupil. A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood. God bless you, Auntie! I'll go into the mills and make pulp with my bare hands, if you want me to. ” He greeted her. " "You are very kind, Sir," returned the widow, "but I require no support. “Julian, I don’t want to get married!” She blinked in 119 disbelief as she saw how hurt he was by her reply. ’ He threw one arm across his own chest and clapped himself on the shoulder.
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