” She thought of her father, and with an effort dismissed him from her mind. She chuckled. "You'd have hit it off better if you'd called her The Sow. He got out in much the same way from the Gatehouse,—stole the keys, and passed through a room where I was sitting half-asleep in a chair. "Bolt the wicket!" shouted Ireton, who, with the others, had been not a little entertained by the gallant turnkey's discomfiture. "I want to know what you've done with the rest of the notes—with the gold— and the papers you took away from my room!" rejoined Wild. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face.
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