Go to her, I say, and take her in your arms, you poor benighted Ironsides! I can't make you see. It would be useless to tell her to go back, even heartless; and yet he could not advise her to go on, blindly, not knowing whether her aunt was dead or alive. Following her lead, he fortified himself with a swallow of the excellent Madeira before responding. Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his. "I am Owen Wood, at your service.
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