Wood having laid hold of the canvass-bag. The mob pursued the thief-taker and his party all the way, and such missiles as could be collected were hurled at them. ‘What is this fate?’ ‘Un mariage of no distinction. "Ah, I see it all!" he cried, with a quick glance. "Ah! Owen Wood, is it you?" cried David in astonishment. He stooped to recover it, and his face was hidden.
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