Milice,’ Gerald translated. Wood. ” He faced her doggedly. When the turnkey, next morning, stepp'd into his room, The sight of the hole in the wall struck him dumb; The sheriff's black bracelets lay strewn on the ground, But the lad that had worn 'em could nowhere be found. She twanged the catgut under her fingers. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living.
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