"He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. I meant to give him a drubbing. I am your servitor. This key," he added, taking it from the boy, "was purloined from me by your father, Jack. Sebastian was gone and another doctor came to bleed her, to rid her of the black humors that were causing the plague. Gerald raised his cockaded hat, and smiled. The expression, however, which would chiefly have interested a beholder, was that of settled and profound melancholy.
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