“Yeah. “It’s a way of avoiding explanations. “We don’t pretend. Wood," said Jonathan, advancing towards him, and speaking in a low tone, "the secret of your adopted son's birth is known to me. "It won't do, widow," said he, drawing near her, while she shrank from his approach, "so you may spare your breath. Don’t you think? Tum, tay, tum, tay.
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