But I was sorry for poor Jack—as I am still, and hoped he would mend. "Strange!" observed the Master; "I thought he'd been at my elbow all this time. When I think of the love you give me—One ought to give you back love. " "Not now, my love—not now," entreated Wood. \" Now it was Michelle’s turn to laugh. You must forgive the poet’s license I take. Earles protested, seating himself before the desk, and dipping his pen in the ink.
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