"What do you think of your nephew, Sir Rowland?" whispered Jonathan, who sat with his back towards Thames, so that his features were concealed from the youth's view. We can’t. I tell you what, Thames," he added, flinging himself carelessly into a chair, "I'd give my right hand,—and that's no light offer for a carpenter's 'prentice,—if that little minx were half as fond of me as she is of you. But escape to where? She thought of the ships that sailed from the peninsulas to hot deserts where spices were traded. ” “Where is your husband?” Anna asked.
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