” He said. His conscience, however, was entirely another affair. He left the room, presumably to sleep elsewhere, but the only other room with a fire was the servant’s quarters. “I ought to have done anything! “What’s a man for? “Friendship!” He doubled up his fist, and seemed to contemplate thrusting it through the window. “Anna,” she moaned, “I am a jealous, ungrateful woman. "My mother,—my poor mother!" exclaimed Jack. " "What gives you that idea?" "Well, we could find no letter of credit, no letters, no labels in his clothes—not a single clew to his real identity.
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