"You are complimentary, Sir Rowland," returned the other, with a grim smile. Not at all. He found a coach at the door, with the blinds carefully drawn up, and ascertained from a tall, ill-looking, though tawdrily-dressed fellow, who held his horse by the bridle, and whom he addressed as Quilt Arnold, that the two boys were safe inside, in the custody of Abraham Mendez, the dwarfish Jew. With this person—who was no other than Mr. You're luck. Had he had the child to think of, he might have recovered from his grief at Mary’s death. She come home within a few months of the wedding.
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