She reloaded. ‘It—it is—nothing,’ she uttered jerkily. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience. Clarice was from Lombardy, fair-haired and light skinned. . After all, that was life. " "So she may," returned Jack, brightening up; "it's a good idea.
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