We can’t be lovers in the ordinary sense, but we can be great and intimate friends. "When in France, I heard from the Marshal that his brother had perished in London on the night of the Great Storm. Fancying they were alone, Sir Rowland threw aside his cloak, and produced a heavy bag of money, which he flung upon the table; and, when Wild had feasted his greedy eyes sufficiently upon its golden contents, he handed him a pocketbook filled with notes. " CHAPTER XI.
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