” She went on, with a desperate attempt to be easy and colloquial: “You see, we were rather good friends, I thought, and now perhaps it will be difficult for us to get back to the old friendly footing. “But you yourself,” she exclaimed, glancing into his face, “you too look tired. But I'll never part with your irons. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. She pulled him towards the bed. —Give me the letters, my love," she added aloud, and in her most winning accents; "they're some wicked forgeries.
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