" The doctor hesitated, puffing his tobacco hastily. "Give me your hand, Poll, to help me through," cried Jack, as he accomplished the operation. The ink, contained in a grimy bottle unearthed in the outhouse, was old, and made blotches as soon as it touched the paper. "Will that do?" he added, returning it. ‘No one is here, Melusine, except you and I. The poor fellow's half smothered. I’ve never had these crying fits before. I can fairly understand Ruth; but you…!" "Have you ever been so lonely that the soul of you cried in anguish? Twentyfour hours a day to think in, alone?… Perhaps I did not want to go mad from loneliness. I have a good memory, you perceive, Sir Rowland. ’ ‘I swear to you, it is the exact truth,’ he protested.
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