His literary instincts were reviving. He wouldn’t like it if people did it to him. ” He chuckled, wincing at the thought. It was a letter. "You," answered Jack, abruptly. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget.
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