XII JACK SHEPPARD A Romance BY W. She realized dimly that there was no personal thing behind his cry, that countless myriads of Mannings had “My God!”-ed with an equal gusto at situations as flatly apprehended. "Mr. Tell him about the island, the coconut dance, the wooden tom-toms; read to him. The one through which she had come and Gosse had entered behind her. Would you stand by me—and her?” “My dear Nigel!” she exclaimed.
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