To the poor carpenter it seemed an endless distance. Furiously, she dashed his hands away. ‘You said—who?’ ‘Remenham. “No!” Her thoughts had turned in a new direction. "So, you're admiring my cabinet, Sir Rowland," he remarked, with a sinister smile; "it is generally admired; and, sometimes by parties who afterwards contribute to the collection themselves,—ha! ha! This skull," he added, pointing to a fragment of mortality in the case beside them, "once belonged to Tom Sheppard, the father of the lad I spoke of just now. He would have to sit down here in Canton and wait, perhaps for weeks. You have been her guardian angel. Perhaps the old fool was not as fanciful as they had thought.
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