A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood. You made that thing?” “From a kit. ‘The major thinks she’s worth it,’ put in Prudence quietly. "He's a base, deceitful, tyrannical, hoary-headed libertine—that's what he is. Shall I send him to Sir John?” Annabel was white to the lips, but her anger was not yet spent.
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