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Ben had scarcely adjusted his oars, when the gleam of a lantern was seen moving towards the bank. "Have nine years so changed me, that there is no trace left of your adopted son?" "God bless me!" ejaculated the carpenter, rubbing his eyes, "can—can it be?" "Surely," screamed Mrs. ‘No, my poor guardian,’ Gerald mocked. The young lady saw the change, and almost snorted.
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