His figure was tall and commanding, and the expression of his countenance (though somewhat disturbed by his recent exertion) was resolute and stern. "Not so," replied Jack, throwing down the skreen. Nor had Jack been idle all this time. But she must not laugh. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers. So saying, he manfully resumed his work; while Wood and Thames quitted the room, and went down stairs. "Your uncle, Sir Rowland?" "It is no idle boasting," replied the other. But once he had steered the lady down the hall and along a passage to a window seat at the end, he abandoned the subject of society.
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