’ ‘It will be worth the pain, you will see. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. Oh, wait!’ She seized Jack’s arm as he was about to go out of the room. " "Don't anger him, my dear son," implored the poor widow, with a look of anguish at Jack. Gerald? But could he be here so quickly? She hastily dabbed at her eyes, thankful for the darkness that she saw had come on outside unnoticed, dimming the room.
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