‘I’ll send one of my men to see you here this very evening. Now Owen Wood had one fair child, Unlike her mother, meek and mild; Her love the draper strove to gain, But she repaid him with disdain. She was honest again. Luck. ‘Yes, do,’ approved Lucilla. “I hope you are going to Carey House. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son.
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