"Have you been more successful, Sir?" ventured Ireton. And so bitterly did the carpenter reproach himself with his neglect, that he resolved, at all risks, to go back in search of it. This started a thought moving. "Your sister is dead," said he, in a deep whisper. The distinction lay chiefly in the right to pat their heads. Perhaps it had been pick-pocketed or jostled from her dress in a hunt. Slowly Prudence Sindlesham nodded her head, her eyes never leaving his face. "Well, how goes it?" he asked.
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