But she was relentless. It would be useless to tell her to go back, even heartless; and yet he could not advise her to go on, blindly, not knowing whether her aunt was dead or alive. "Your father said so before you," replied Jonathan, malignantly; "and yet it has tarried thus long. I made a wrong choice, it seems—but my voice remains. Her little white hand stole across the table. Figg?" said Jack, peevishly. “My dear Anna,” he answered.
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