’ He smiled down at her. She wrote it down. B. Wood. She leaned over and kissed his cheek innocently. “You will write to me, I am sure—and from the date of your letter I trust most earnestly that I may come back to my old place as “Your devoted friend, “WALTER BRENDON. No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor.
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