"Your uncle, Sir Rowland?" "It is no idle boasting," replied the other. Annabel half filled her glass with wine, and taking a little folded packet from her plate, shook the contents into it. He would always be her friend, too. "I see you don't know him as well as you pretend. He continued alternately to be tossed in the air, or rolled in the kennel until he was borne out of sight. Nine years ago, I was honest—was happy. “I did it for love of you,” he said.
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