She began to miss him when he was gone during the day and cherish the quiet times he spent only with her. "This gash," he added, pointing to one of the larger scars, "was a wipe from the hanger of Tom Thurland, whom I apprehended for the murder of Mrs. " "You need not," replied Jack, in a tone of the deepest compunction. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity.
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