The villagers were thronging to church. He sat up in his chair again, the colour came back to his cheeks. Still, he was puzzled because McClintock had not spoken. "Ah! Owen Wood, is it you?" cried David in astonishment. Where can we sit down and talk?” He led her across the room towards a window recess, in which a tall, fair young man was seated with an evening paper in his hand. ‘What?’ Roding snapped, coming quickly to tower above the window seat.
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