" "None whatever," rejoined Wild. But I was sorry for poor Jack—as I am still, and hoped he would mend. Even if you pretend sometimes to be without sense. But he wrote on. " Ruth did so, but without any particular fervour. " "Iss, Massa Austin," replied the black. "I don't know how it is," he added in a low voice to Thames, as they were left alone, "but I've a strange foreboding of ill. She's my mealticket.
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