“If one half of the stories about Meysey Hill are true,” he answered, “I would not stretch out my little finger to save his life. But I was sorry for poor Jack—as I am still, and hoped he would mend. He knew not how to act, urged as he was in two directions. She patted John's head with her palm, its surface appealingly fuzzy. Stunning and continuous, the din seemed almost to take away the power of hearing.
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