"Devil!" cried the widow, catching his arm, and gazing with frantic eagerness in his face, "how many years will you give my son before you execute your terrible threat?" "NINE!" answered Jonathan sternly. There was no need of sowing suspicion when he wasn't really certain there were grounds for it. Miss Miniver looked over her glasses at her friend almost balefully. I'm almost sorry your suspicions are unfounded, if your father in any way resembled you, my youngster. By the middle of July he was in full health.
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