"It is I,—Mona Scully," she calls aloud, when she is within a hundred yards of the hiding-place. "Tim Ryan, come here: I want you.",
"I have heard of it. A third son would be poor, of course, and—and worldly people would not think so much of him as of others. Is that so?",
"Oh, nothing," says Mona, flushing. "I suppose I was lonely. Don't mind me. Tell me all about yourself and your visit.".
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