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She was honest again. “You are mine, Annabel, and nothing shall ever make me give you up. She knew very well that a new thing was stirring in her. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. I saw someone in there whom I have always hoped that I should never meet again. ” “It’s Shari’s work. God! I have cheated myself into a belief that the boy perished! And now my worst fears are realized —he lives!" "As yet," returned Jonathan, with fearful emphasis. Then, in a few years, he and Ruth might fare forth in comfort and security. "Farewell for ever," said Jack, extending his hand to Mrs.
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