“She’s my wife,” the man muttered. " "You, Miss Enschede?"—frankly astonished that one stranger should offer succour to another. I’m not mad that he has eyes for you instead of me, not mad at all. Hence!" "Mother! dear mother!" cried Jack, in a voice, the tones of which were altered by his very anxiety to make them distinct, "listen to me. ” Obediently, Lucy placed the stone upon the mausoleum.
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