“Your name and address were upon an envelope found in the pocket of an Englishman who was brought here late last night suffering from serious injuries,” he said in a dry official tone. " "And I trust you will never have occasion to weep again, my poor soul," replied Wood, setting down his lantern, and brushing a few drops from his eyes, "unless it be tears of joy. Perhaps for the first time he realized that Anna was by no means an ordinary person. The sun was all but gone now, the horizon a deep shade of purple. I hate children. .
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