“This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence. "Well, Jack," said the prize-fighter, in a rough, but friendly voice, and with a cutand-thrust abrupt manner peculiar to himself; "how are you, lad, eh? Sorry to see you here. “I’m damned if I’ll believe it,” he muttered to himself savagely. "Do they treat you ill?" asked her son. They had their little dreams about her. ‘The credentials, milor’,’ he ventured.
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