Jackson, mean time, produced a pocket-book; and, after deliberately sharpening the point of a pencil, began to write on a blank leaf. ‘Would you care for some refreshment? A glass of wine, perhaps?’ ‘Nothing, merci, I do not remain,’ she answered, although she did not rise. The scent of cloying pine dust filled the air as floodlights shone eerily through the jungle gym of new wood. \"Yep. You did not say a word about it last week, nor have you written. I should say that having a doubt was enough to condemn it.
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