"Oh God!" exclaimed Jack, in a tone of the bitterest anguish. You forget all the mass of training and tradition and instinct that go to make him a tolerable master. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. "Sir Rowland is murdered!" cried Jack, as soon as he could find a tongue. Years ago, when you were a girl and in the bloom of your beauty, I loved you.
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