"Vill this do?" demanded the constable, taking the candle from the lantern, the better to display the narrow limits of the hole. Ann Veronica’s tense nerves started, and she stood still with her eyes upon him, wondering what it might be that impended. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. “Queer letters he writes,” she said. " "Find me the job.
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