Boys, at the time of which we write, were attired like men of their own day, or certain charity-children of ours; and the stripling in question was dressed in black plush breeches, and a gray drugget waistcoat, with immoderately long pockets, both of which were evidently the cast-off clothes of some one considerably his senior. “Martin, you realize that I’m dating someone, don’t you?” She knew his reply before he uttered it. “Will he die?” she asked. "I am Owen Wood, at your service. Leastways, she’d be your greataunt, wouldn’t she?’ Astounded, Melusine was just about to demand further information, when a commotion outside the room interrupted her. But I don't look for peace on this side the grave.
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