"Take me, then," replied the widow. Where can we sit down and talk?” He led her across the room towards a window recess, in which a tall, fair young man was seated with an evening paper in his hand. She had hardly noticed the loss of her dagger, so strong had been the waves of relief that attacked her on hearing that Jack had returned from death’s door. “I’ll go,” she vowed to the night, “or I’ll die!” She made plans and estimated means and resources. Kneebone, I came hither as your guest. It filled his thoughts for the rest of the day, and became an obsession.
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