Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. Jack's former attempt to pass up the chimney, it may be remembered, was obstructed by an iron bar. The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. It was not the arrival of the guests, but merely the maid moving about in the hall. She had no inkling of that insupportable wrong.
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