I can’t help it. The summons was instantly answered by a shop-boy. After all, this could never be the black sheep. She had lost it. The latter looked very pale, either from the effect of his wound, which was not yet entirely healed, or from suppressed emotion,—partly, perhaps, from both causes,—and wore his left arm in a sling. As he crossed this chamber, his foot struck against something on the floor, which nearly threw him down, and stooping to examine the object, he found it was a key. "Sir Rowland must be gone.
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