Perhaps it had been pick-pocketed or jostled from her dress in a hunt. There’s hardly a night she doesn’t sneak out of the house. "When I heard of your escape, I felt sure I should see you. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. Spurlock had found the typewriter, oiled and cleaned it, and began to practise on it in the night. “You are absurd,” she declared. “We must go.
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