He was in the house with his mother. “You’re getting too old to put things off, John. He knew my name, and also that I had been living in Paris, and a man doesn’t risk claiming a girl for his wife, as a rule, for nothing. Amongst other things, he had just brought down an old laced bavaroy, a species of surtout much worn at the period. There were mysterious rustlings that made him glance hopefully toward the sea. Lucy stared out to the busy streets beyond. "And now, mark me. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. He came in with his hands in his trousers pockets and a general air of depression in his bearing.
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