"You will be wanting your broth, Hoddy," she said. . ‘Who’s this, then? Not soldiers again. " "Jack," replied Thames, greatly moved, "I wish I could devise any means of brightening your own dark prospects. Heliers. Wary they might be. "To paint your portrait," answered the jailer. “He fell over at my feet,” she continued. Almost at once she had comprehended that she was expected to write down her name and address, which she did, in slanting cobwebby lettering, perhaps a trifle laboriously. She read on and on, now thrilled by the swiftly moving drama, now enraptured by the tender passages of love.
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