Jackson, mean time, produced a pocket-book; and, after deliberately sharpening the point of a pencil, began to write on a blank leaf. I'm a slave to my word. Why, that boy could hide for thirty years—without the girl. ’ Abruptly, the niggling doubt that had been plaguing Lord Charvill came sweeping to the surface. " "I can't! I can't—not now!" "Bat!—can't you see that she's the kind who would understand and forgive? She loves you.
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