“Your father,” he said, “remarked that all’s well that ends well, and that he was disposed to let bygones be bygones. He thought, too, of the fretful invalid who lay in the next room to his, whose money had created his business and made his position in the world. "Not so, Sir Rowland," returned Jonathan; "you are my prisoner. He handed her a cheque for thirty-one pounds, ten shillings, and read the agreement through to her. He was no longer in military uniform, and it was evident from his suit of brown brocade that he had been disturbed while preparing for an evening engagement. “It was best for me to know.
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