A stack of chimneys, on the house above them, had yielded to the storm, and descended in a shower of bricks and stones. ‘How much does he know?’ Without waiting for a reply, she turned narrowed eyes on Gerald. “He fell over at my feet,” she continued. Suppose her father turned her out of doors! She did not care, she meant to go. A chill ran through his frame, and, grasping the heavy weapon with which chance had provided him, prepared to strike down the first person who should enter the cell. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living.
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