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It was a haunted place. " "Sir Rowland is dead," replied Jonathan, gloomily. "Love me, love my dog! Because I've scolded him and told him a few truths, you are ice to me. “This girl—she’s really a very charming, frank person—had had her imagination fired, so she told me, by a school performance of Romeo and Juliet. He was a man tout à fait capable, this Gerald. “Just forget it, Lucy! Keep your secrets to yourself!” He stomped out, slamming the heavily paneled oak door. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester.
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