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" "My poor son!" groaned the widow, sinking backwards. "Granted it were as you say, Jack," said Wild;—"and I sha'n't take the trouble to contradict you—the estates would be yours hereafter. Tell me a story—with apple-blossoms in it—about people who are happy. But perhaps if people didn’t like clear, bright, healthy eyes—which is biologically understandable—they couldn’t like precious stones. Uttering a faint scream, she sank backwards, and would have fallen, if it had not been for the interposition of Blueskin, who, at that moment, staggered into the room with a candle in one hand, and the bottle in the other. McClintock was amused. “Look here, Ann Veronica,” he began.

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