His hair is oddly streaked with gray —I might say a dishonourable gray. Winds returned, the gardens withered, and roses would not bloom. “If any one should know——you should! He was your friend. "Bolt the wicket!" shouted Ireton, who, with the others, had been not a little entertained by the gallant turnkey's discomfiture. And now, Sir, have I kept faith with you?" "You have," replied Darrell.
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