"I have nearly done," replied the stranger. They are mine! They were sent to ‘Alcide’ not to you. “How CAN I tell him?” whispered Miss Stanley. On reflection, it occurred to him that he might, perhaps, be able to loosen the iron fillet; a notion no sooner conceived than executed. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son.
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