The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. He had finally put aside The Lilac Sunbonnet, gone into his study, lit the gas fire, and written the letter that had brought these unsatisfactory relations to a head. The stairs creaked as Mark rushed down them. She twisted to meet him and folded into his embrace. But I was sorry for poor Jack—as I am still, and hoped he would mend.
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