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She thought of the suitcase, the seventy-seven dollars for a Greyhound ticket that had expired. When my father died, and we were left alone in Jersey, I was quite a long time deciding whether I would go in for singing professionally or try painting. ‘Nothing of the sort,’ argued Gerald. Jack, however, had an expedient for mastering this difficulty. Few men could have done as much. One nail drives out another, it's true; but the worst nail you can employ is a coffin-nail. CHAPTER XXIX. Wood's.
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