"Do not—do not!" "He must!" thundered Jonathan, "or he goes to jail. You don’t know about Mary because you live in Kent. His frame was wasted, and slightly bent; his eyes were hollow, his complexion haggard, and his beard, which had remained unshorn during his hasty journey, was perfectly white. I got a rusty bolt cutter. Oh, Heavens; that I should have ever indulged a hope of happiness while that terrible man lives!" "Compose yourself, Joan," said Wood; "all will yet be well. He drew her to him and tipped her chin towards him.
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