" "Perhaps not," replied Jack, to whom an idea had suddenly occurred. She took the piece of paper and unfolded it in the safety of her lap. Nothing more forlorn could be conceived. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. He poured a pinch of tobacco into his palm and sniffed. ‘Say it. ” Courtlaw was alarmed at the man’s pallor. “He dissembles,” he said.
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