"Who, then?" demanded Jack. Twice Spurlock went to Copeley's—twenty miles to the northwest—for ice and mail. Montague Hill. With his tongue lolling and his flea-bitten stump wagging apologetically, he glanced from face to face to see if there was any forgiveness visible. The thought of you, wandering from pillar to post, believing yourself hunted—it tore my old heart to pieces! For I knew you. Let me keep him.
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