"Leave him to me," he said. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. “Oh! I wish,” she said, “that people thought alike about these things. ” Lucy begged. If she was in a position to help him she would help him; only it happened to be the other way round. Keep your eye upon the lad. “I must read him when I come out. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. ” The man hesitated. Visible underneath his collar were some metal tags.
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