Then instinct took over. "Every brick I take out," cried Jack, as fresh rubbish clattered down the chimney, "brings me nearer my mother. Would you tell her … now?" his eyes flaming with mockery. Giving him a wide berth, and keeping her pistol high, she made her way to the door and warily peered through it. God only knows what I have done, or left undone. It had been a trying day.
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