“I cannot say who he is,” said Ann Veronica, “but he is a married man. I married—I married a woman whom I still think one of the most beautiful persons in the world. Wood, with a candle in his hand, which Jack instantly blew out, and darted down stairs. Drummond, who had been about to speak, refrained. He embraced her small body in his arms, kissing her forehead over and over. The man was my husband. His manner, however, was as stern and haughty as ever, and his glances retained their accustomed fire. Now you haven’t the ghost of one—not if you play the game fair. . I'm not quite such a greenhorn as Shotbolt, Jack, whatever you may think.
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