CHAPTER I. "Well, Sir Rowland," he said, after a brief pause, during which the knight regarded him with a searching glance, as if endeavouring to recall his features, "I will not gainsay your words. There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible. He has been bottling it up all the way from West Kensington. Her nurse says she may live some time; but she seems to me to be sinking fast.
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