Jacques, Jacques!’ His face was white, but his eyes were open, if a trifle glazed. At one moment, it seemed as if the flying bark was about to put to shore. He had sold half a dozen short tales to thirdrate magazines; but this letter had been issued from a distinguished editorial room, of international reputation. “I am convinced you haven’t thought this out,” he went on. "You show more consideration to the feelings of a hempen widow, than there is any need to show.
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