Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. She was sore and overstrung, and it was intolerable to her that he should stand within three yards of her unsuspectingly, with an incalculably vast power over her happiness. The night before they made McClintock's Ruth and Spurlock leaned over the rail, their shoulders touching. But I swear she ain’t told me nothing more, sir.
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