“I am going to break a covenant,” he cried. Captain Roding strode into the parlour. I'm a graybeard, an old bachelor; so I am accorded certain privileges. " "Ay, marry," replied Wood, with a look that seemed to say that he did not think it required any surprising skill in the art of divination to predict the doom of the individual in question; but whatever opinion he might entertain, he contented himself with inquiring into the grounds of the conjuror's evil augury respecting the infant. One or two landladies refused her with an air of conscious virtue that she found hard to explain. He has escaped.
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