’ Roding’s voice changed. " "Loved me! You!" "I loved you," continued Jonathan, "and struck by your appearance, which seemed above your station, inquired your history, and found you had been stolen by a gipsy in Lancashire. Picked up the photograph, looked at it, handed it back, and never batted an eye! The act was as clear as daylight, but the motive was as profoundly mysterious as the race itself. All three, then, burst into an immoderate fit of laughter. "Good night!" "Blueskin," whispered Jack, in his natural tones, as the other passed him, "wait without. As she went on, the story began to sound more and more like a recitation.
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