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Jack may be capable of much that is wicked, but he would never lift his hand against his friend,—of that I am assured. "She has no secrets from me. E. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. But, say we're friends. "What shall I say? Shall I tell you, or shall I leave you in the dark—as I must always leave her? What shall I say except that I am accursed of men? Yes; I have loved something—her mother. The fact itself is regrettable enough—regrettable, I fear, is quite an inadequate word.
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