"And who taught it you—the landlord, Joe Hind?" "No; one Blueskin, a fellow who frequents the Lion," answered Jack, with a degree of candour that astonished his master nearly as much as his confidence. There was nothing on her face to hint of the misery that brimmed her heart this morning. He accepted this confession conditionally: that no young man had kissed her. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. “I shall be waiting for you there, and in the meantime, if you will help yourself—pray don’t look like that.
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