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A chill ran through his frame, and, grasping the heavy weapon with which chance had provided him, prepared to strike down the first person who should enter the cell. "And Jack?" "Gone too," sobbed his daughter. “I do not lay claim,” he continued, “to any remarkable amount of insight, but it is possible, is it not, that I have stumbled upon your present cause of distress. Are you going to write a novel?” “Not I,” she answered gaily.
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