"Bring the light, Nab. Fly! fly!" "Do not think of me, mother, but of yourself," cried Jack, in an agony of tears. “Don’t!” cried Ann Veronica, struggling faintly, and he released her. . There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. If he adhered to this policy—to keep away from her inconspicuously—she would forget the name by night, and to-morrow even the bearer of it would sink below the level of recollection. He looked at her, hurt.
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