” “But, my dear Peter!” said Miss Stanley. A dull light shone through the open window blinds and softened the room with parchment yellowness. Jackson, mean time, produced a pocket-book; and, after deliberately sharpening the point of a pencil, began to write on a blank leaf. ‘Thought you were going to break in here,’ he said, in an impatient whisper. “Yeah, where the hell were you? My friends would have driven you home when I came home if I could have found you. "'Tis a cruel thing you've done, lad.
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