” She watched his face as he traced his way through these speculative thickets. I didn’t know that you had it that bad,” said John. " "Farewell, Jack," cried twenty voices. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. You simply can’t. Martha was quite right. She had taken care he should have this momentous talk with her on a garden-seat commanded by the windows of the house. The carpenter trembled; for he perceived Rowland's gaze fixed first upon the infant, and then on himself.
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