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Sydney was watching her eagerly. " "My dear," observed Wood, "you should be more charitable—" "Charitable!" repeated his wife, "that's your constant cry. “You are mine, Annabel, and nothing shall ever make me give you up. Like stealing. “While we were minding the children they stole our rights and liberties. Lucy cringed, her eyes widening. I'll cable to-night, and in a few days we'll have some news. With a little more meat on him, he would be handsome. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester.
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