“I suppose most people’s letters are queer. I must not let you go again. There was the stile on which Jonathan had sat, and he recollected distinctly the effect of his mocking glance— how it had hardened his heart against his mother's prayer. "There's a guinea to drink our health," she added, slipping a piece of money into his hand. He seemed wholly insensible to the rain, though it presently descended in torrents, and continued his search as ardently as before.
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