‘Didn’t mean it, love. . There one is! The same stuff still! One has a craving in one’s blood, a craving roused, cut off from its redeeming and guiding emotional side. ‘Tell me, my boy. Oh! that I should have nursed such a viper!" "Hear me, Sir," said Jack. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester.
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