"What poet was that?" "Stevenson. And we won’t make it so. " "Then you will stay!" she cried, clapping her hands joyfully, "for I'm sure he won't part with you. Wood's, the carpenter in Wych Street. " "Would you like to have me come in and talk?" How tender that sounded!—talk! "If you want to. "I hardly know," returned Jack; "but it's not safe for me to remain much longer here. “Why don’t they wait?” he added. Apparently he did not see his recent companions.
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