“We were good friends in Paris, weren’t we? You made me all sorts of promises, we planned no end of nice things, and then—without a word to any one you disappeared. As to Mrs. Wood, with a candle in his hand, which Jack instantly blew out, and darted down stairs. I didn’t dream, not even in my wildest dreaming, that—you might have any need of me. Curses light on the horse!" he added, seizing the bridle of his steed, who continued snorting and shivering, as if still under the influence of some unaccountable alarm; "what can ail him?" "I know what ails him, your honour," rejoined the groom, riding up as he spoke; "he's seen somethin' not o' this world. Why doesn’t she marry? Plenty of money under her father’s will. He was twenty-nine at the time, practically an old man. Wood, in equal trepidation. He feared to antagonize that distinguished person. "We were talking shop," said McClintock, rising.
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