Wood's daughter,—to whom, I've heard tell, he was attached years ago,—was brought up, his courage forsook him altogether, and he trembled, and could scarcely stand. ‘Oh, the Frenchie. Brendon looked across the room at her thoughtfully. I deemed it more prudent to send him to the Dark House than to bring him here, in case of any search after him by his adoptive father—the carpenter Wood. “Hola Marteen!” She exclaimed cheerfully.
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