“Won’t you give me your address?” She shook her head. His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet. She was vaguely happy over this arrangement which put her in the wing across the middle hall, alone. Before he forced an entrance, Jack tried it, and, to his great surprise and delight, found it unfastened. "Your son," replied Jack,—"your miserable, repentant son.
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