"Ah! Owen Wood, is it you?" cried David in astonishment. '" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. It was decrepit and too large. She liked the high, easy swing of the thing over its big wheels, the quick clatter-patter of the horse, the passage of the teeming streets. Hastily ascending these steps, Jack found the door, as he anticipated, locked.
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