‘Poor Hilary. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. "Adieu, my worthy uncle. Again returning to the main road, he passed through Clapton; and turning off on the left, arrived at the foot of Stamford Hill. This key," he added, taking it from the boy, "was purloined from me by your father, Jack. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. ’ He laughed. “Yes, I see that.
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