"I would sacrifice all my fortune—all my hopes —to liberate him. No one. He continued to do this for the rest of the evening intermittently, in and out, among other topics. The preparations to meet him were immense, roses were planted everywhere, white and drooping with honeyed fragrance. ‘It is of no use to try to stop me. The Jacobite daws want a scarecrow. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. .
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