"Mother! dear mother!" cried Jack, folding her to his breast. Time was moving so fast, she could no longer count the days since Gosse had come to her with his preposterous suggestion at the Coq d’Or, where they were staying and where he had robbed her and left her and Martha to their fate. “Yes! I must! The thing is becoming a torture to me. Never really thought about Him—people don’t. The sky was cloudless, effulgent blue.
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