"Because—because I'm always distrustful of a priest," rejoined Jonathan. Ah! how I wish, poor dear Sir Cecil were alive! he'd keep him in order. "Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. You will sever ties with your own kin?” “Yes. Somehow logic could not explain her. I did so. “Of course!” he said. I defy you to explain it away. " "Rely on me," rejoined Kneebone.
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