Well, it had to happen somewhen. But here was a girl—she must be a girl, since she was his daughter and pat-able—imitating the woman quite remarkably and cleverly. Again he rushed. "Sometimes a cup of lies is a cheering thing," replied the trader. None presented themselves to save him from that return. Half an hour passed, but Jack did not make his appearance. He—In fact, he—he locked me in my room. All was darkness, horror, confusion, ruin. "My coat!" he repeated, his glance burning into hers. Wood carved the ducks; Mr. Wood became sensible that he was not alone.
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