One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. She reflected before answering. I have only just left Wych Street. Come back—you must come back. When Jack entered the cell, she was talking to herself in the muttering unconnected way peculiar to her distracted condition; but, after her eye had rested on him some time, the fixed expression of her features relaxed, and a smile crossed them. For Mr Jarvis was beside himself when the letter come from Mr Charvill and he knew he’d lost you as well as Miss Mary.
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