Her fingers found the lump she sought and, with a little effort, she dragged out the black-wrapped foil. The phone did not ring. " "Do you mock me?" cried Jack, levelling a pistol at him. Grace, confidence, the power of movement even, seemed gone from her. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. Sir John looked about him, and somehow the laugh died away. You had better let me go again. "Take courage, man; it is only Quilt Arnold.
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