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Then he lifted the black cloak-like garment from the floor. He pulled down a chair to her left. I demand it as a right. "So I will," rejoined Shotbolt; "so I will. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. ” “But how?” He was, she thought, a little too insistent. On the north stood the battlements of one of the towers of the gate.
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