Another picture slid across her vision. From this spot a road, more resembling the drive through a park than a public thoroughfare, led him gradually to the brow of Dollis Hill. This was his sister, evidently in the last extremity. His red hair marked him, cut short into a round shape that had the texture of a Brillo pad. At this moment, Davies, who had completed his preparations, extinguished the torch. At length, I shall ascertain my name. “Oh, theories! Being in love is a fact. A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood.
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