"Look to the horses, Obadiah. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. “I doubted my luck, at least. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish.
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