What are you to do with a mad mother at a time when you need all your wits to take care of yourself?" "Don't concern yourself further about me," returned Jack. Valade, who was standing by her chair, glancing around the packed pink-papered saloon with a heavy frown on his face, was a thickset man of coarse, reddened feature, with a discontented air. One who—who—tres.
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