“A volatile temperament—yes, a volatile temperament,” Mr. Wild horses wouldn’t drag it out of me, even I knew anything, which I don’t. Fancying they were alone, Sir Rowland threw aside his cloak, and produced a heavy bag of money, which he flung upon the table; and, when Wild had feasted his greedy eyes sufficiently upon its golden contents, he handed him a pocketbook filled with notes. "Egad!" exclaimed Wood, "you've hit the right nail on the head, anyhow.
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