“Oh, yes,” the stranger remarked good-humouredly. To-morrow he might be sorry; but to-day, this hour! She rose, not quickly, but with a dignity which only accentuated her beauty. There were the burnt papers still in the grate. Something to tell you. ‘One of your countrymen, perhaps?’ The girl clammed up, the moon of her white face staring up at him in the darkness. "You!" cried Jack, scornfully.
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