" "How long will you be here?" "To-morrow night. Wet as he was, he felt if he lay down in the grass, he should perish with cold; while, if he sought a night's lodging in any asylum, his dress, stained with blood and covered with dirt, would infallibly cause him to be secured and delivered into the hands of justice. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. .
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