" "Well said, Jack," cried Figg. You love Ennison. He allowed his voice to drip with sympathy. ” Chapter XXXII SIX MONTHS AFTER Up the moss-grown path, where the rose bushes run wild, almost met, came Anna in a spotless white gown, with the flush of her early morning walk in her cheeks, and something of the brightness of it in her eyes. Jack's life hangs on your determination.
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