It’s not you—not a bit. " So saying, he hurried up stairs, opened the back door, and was quickly in the yard. In vain Wood protested his innocence. The house had in fact been converted into a convent, but the fact could not be advertised, not even in the Catholic enclave that existed in this part of town. Hastening to the spot where he had tied his horse to a tree, he vaulted into the saddle, and rode off across the fields,—for he was fearful of encountering the hostile party,—till he reached the Edgeware Road. Things you would laugh at. " Nothing on land or water was spared by the remorseless gale.
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