It may be treacherous, it may lay up a store of future woe; but it insures present happiness, and that is sufficient. She went to market every day to fetch the daily bread and more herbs for more medicines and potions, plus treats for the apprentices made of honey and almond paste. The moon had arisen, and everything could be as plainly distinguished as during the day. Both advanced towards it, when, by the light of the lantern, Wood beheld, in the countenance of the stranger, the well-remembered and stern features of Rowland. “John,” she said, “I can spare you that question. “There is no—Good God!” he exclaimed. “You do not quite understand,” she said gently. So I packed up and came to London next day. "It is droll," he said. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. ‘He can’t be Valade, that’s certain,’ mused Gerald, unheeding. .
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