“Mr. You know—I worship you. "You!" cried Jack, scornfully. " "Not at fisticuffs, perhaps," interrupted Jack, fiercely; "but I've my knife. Anna tore it open and passed it to Courtlaw. But the letter, written in his son’s own hand, and addressed to the Mother Abbess of the Convent of the Sisters of Wisdom near Blaye in the district of Santonge, dated a little over five years previously, exercised a powerful effect upon him. But Jack eluded their grasp.
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