Lost ground must be regained. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. His subjects, however, were no longer entirely under his control; and, though he managed to enforce some little attention to his commands, it was evident his authority was waning fast. She had thought it a mirror, because it was her. Pausing at each door on the landing, Jack placed his ear to the keyhole, and listened intently. He roused curiosities. .
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