Aunt Jane had her quiet moments. For her mother to betray her seemed inevitable, but the betrayal seemed worse than her fate. Stanley, standing up with a sudden geniality and rubbing his hands together. Wet as he was, he felt if he lay down in the grass, he should perish with cold; while, if he sought a night's lodging in any asylum, his dress, stained with blood and covered with dirt, would infallibly cause him to be secured and delivered into the hands of justice. Directly in range stood the strange young man, although he was at the far side of the loft.
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