Yet she never once thought of changing it. Let me say it to you. Afterward, one afternoon, he hovered about her, and came and sat beside her and talked of beauty and the riddle of beauty for some time. Both advanced towards it, when, by the light of the lantern, Wood beheld, in the countenance of the stranger, the well-remembered and stern features of Rowland. Double-crossing wouldn't do any good. "He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter.
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