The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph. " "And I trust you will never have occasion to weep again, my poor soul," replied Wood, setting down his lantern, and brushing a few drops from his eyes, "unless it be tears of joy. "You've arrived sooner than I expected, Sir Rowland," observed the thief-taker. “Come,” she said.
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