Wood's favourite sitting-room, and her image was so intimately associated with it, neither the carpenter nor his daughter could muster courage to enter it before. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. He was a young man of about two-and-twenty, who, without having anything remarkable either in dress or appearance, was yet a noticeable person, if only for the indescribable expression of cunning pervading his countenance. “Useless—worse than useless.
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