‘No, my poor guardian,’ Gerald mocked. 'He that woos a maid',— fol-de-rol—(hiccupping). He held her hand in his, cupped together like a pair of shells for the rest of the hour. ‘Champion?’ ‘The lad you saw following her. Montague Hill. “You found the cabochon? After all these years?” He asked, incredulous. “But I still think of my old foster brothers and sisters. The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me.
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