"No," replied Jack, peremptorily. Clotilde rushed out of the house, carrying her boy and tugging her girl by the ear. "But, I own, I think it is like. But whatever she may have said was lost as Gerald pinned her to the wall, the point of the sword at her throat. Mercifully, John had been sick for two of the three days of Thanksgiving week, giving her reprieve from both his presence and the machinations of Katy Pfister, who was always less active on days when he was not around.
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