‘I wish you joy of the wench. ’ ‘A pretty tale. Satisfied in this respect, he flung himself into a chair, for his iron frame seldom required the indulgence of a bed, and sought an hour's repose before he began the villanies of another day. An uncomfortable silence followed. " "You have no son," rejoined Sir Rowland, moodily. But this might be merely a figurative mode of describing his customary vigilance.
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