"Ah! Owen Wood, is it you?" cried David in astonishment. We were talking about the suffrage—and I rather scoffed. Left alone, Jonathan lighted a lamp, and, opening the trap-door, descended the secret stairs. . . Anna left the room on tiptoe. She could tell that they too would find their legs jutting awkwardly from the petite furniture. ‘What, miss?’ asked Jack Kimble from behind her. The day is already half over. A post-chaise seen in the road first alarmed us. Daughters were in the air that day.
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