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Hill sat up on the pavement and mopped the blood from his cheek. She sat perfectly still, however. "At present under the care of his preserver—one Owen Wood, a carpenter, by whom he was brought up. “You can’t think that I’m fool enough to be put off like this. ’ ‘Comment? How will it serve you to kill me?’ ‘I do not need to kill you. She fought him at first, screaming at him, but he did not relent. She is in the hall now. —Though if my name should become as famous as theirs, it wouldn't much matter. "Perhaps," replied Wood, doubtfully.
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