"What's that to you?" retorted Jack, surlily. God bless you, Auntie! I'll go into the mills and make pulp with my bare hands, if you want me to. "No prize shall indushe me to enter dat horrid plashe again. Wanton! Had I been one, even God would have forgiven me, understanding. Gerald exchanged a puzzled glance with his friend. But this was not a season in which to be needlessly scrupulous.
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