"Every brick I take out," cried Jack, as fresh rubbish clattered down the chimney, "brings me nearer my mother. She was by his side. Age is set, impervious to innovations. I'd have got something nice. Not with the unavoidable explanations, and the need to secrete the sword and hide it before returning the priest’s horse to its stable—which had been her excuse for running from Martha’s protestations. I’m glad I did.
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