"I am no man's mistress," answered the widow, crimsoning to her temples, but preserving her meek deportment, and humble tone. "You don't eat," continued Kneebone, addressing Jack, who had remained for some time thoughtful, and pre-occupied with his head upon his hand. “Everybody seems to have it now. “It is very doubtful,” he said. “But don’t you know about me?” he said at last. I am dreadfully sad.
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