His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. "I am Owen Wood, at your service. That it provided proof of the girl’s identity was one thing. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. When he saw, his roars could be heard across the lagoon. I am the richest man in England. The struggle was brief, and Gerald stepped aside, the pistol in his possession, while the girl Melusine stood trembling and glaring. But then, because my papa had no money, you understand, he sent me to a convent.
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