‘How disappointing,’ mourned Gerald. I’ll pay it. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. "My portrait!" echoed Jack. C below. It would be protective; it would with age turn to silver unnoticeably. “NOW!” said Ann Veronica. "Right!—right!" cried Jack, striking his fettered hands against his breast. You only live a block away!” 236 “I’ll do my best. .
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