” She could have handled ten times the weight, and hoisted him on her back and carried him too. She had even confided to him how lonely it was in the island. Her whole conduct and tone had been modest and ladylike. The militiaman at once thrust the old man between the shoulder blades, pushing him into the kitchen. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. "Do not go near him, mother," cried Jack; "do not believe him. No one could take the place for anything but what it was, and even Gosse hesitated in the doorway. Roused by the bell tolling for evening service, Jack left the house.
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