My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. “We are not going the right way,” she exclaimed. But she had found it very difficult. "Then, by Heaven! you are a dead man!" replied Jack, cocking a pistol, and pointing it deliberately at his head. 'Whoso giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord;' that's my comfort. I hope I haven't given any unintentional offence?" said the widow, again meekly appealing to Wood.
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