‘What are you after this time, miss?’ asked Jack. It was a habit of his to talk to himself. "Your sympathy is being wasted. The night was clear and moonlit, dazzling with even light blue shadows that shone into manicured lawns and pristine gardens. It was open. The room was papered with green, large-patterned paper that was at worst a trifle dingy, and the arm-chair and the seats of the other chairs were covered with the unusual brightness of a large-patterned chintz, which also supplied the window-curtain. She could smell the savory tinge of his sweat in the air. But go on. ’ ‘So I heard.
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