He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. ” He leaned back in his chair as though wearied. It was a dead calm. "At present under the care of his preserver—one Owen Wood, a carpenter, by whom he was brought up. Upon what this instinct was based she could not say; she was conscious only of its insistence. She dismissed the idea of doing so.
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