Taking up a couple of large stones which lay near, Jack tried to beat the round basils of the fetters into an oval form, so as to enable him to slip his heels through them. "Thank Heaven!" she gasped. And as he gave back the portfolio to Sir Rowland he contrived, unobserved, to slip the precious document into his sleeve, and from thence into his pocket. ‘Still—here? Wasting your—time. To settle things, you know. “In any case, I decline to see you alone. Blackness was beginning to consume the cornfield. Her husband quickly joined the fray, making her giggle and laugh.
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