"Souls," she answered, drily. " "I think I remember reading something about your father in the papers," observed Wood. "But you are a good man, and you'll understand. Remember, in your story—look at it, scattered everywhere!—that line? We arrive at true happiness only through labyrinths of misery. He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts. It was there in the breast pocket, stiff and legal looking. ’ She moved quickly to the nearest bookcase, and listened intently to the sound of Jack’s voice.
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