" Ideas are never born; they are suggested; they are planted seeds. "Allow him that small grace," cried Wood. " "I'm a queer girl," she replied with a smile. " "I am so," replied Thames, who had followed him closely. Your uncle—our uncle is with him. Strange, I shouldn't know him when he called on me. The picture of Mary Remenham was still on the wall. You know all this stuff is insured. "Remember the devil!" retorted Terence, who had recovered his natural audacity. ‘I thank you. " "Most likely," observed Jonathan, with a slight sneer; "the ghost of some highwayman who has just breathed his last in Newgate, no doubt.
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