On taxing his recollection, the whole circumstance rushed to mind with painful distinctness. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica. "At present under the care of his preserver—one Owen Wood, a carpenter, by whom he was brought up. And I'll answer for it, she'll never say a syllable to annoy you again. ’ ‘The tables, they are turned, I think,’ she returned.
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