" "Thank'ee,—thank'ee. "Mercy on us!" cried he, as a thrill of apprehension ran through his frame. She was breathing hard, dragging for air, half in fright and half because the sudden effort had used up what little air she had managed to draw so briefly. " "You have no son," rejoined Sir Rowland, moodily. " "Not utterly," rejoined the other. He sat up in his chair again, the colour came back to his cheeks.
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