"She is here," cried Jack, darting forward. So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. "Have a little patience, Sir," rejoined the jailer. "Have nine years so changed me, that there is no trace left of your adopted son?" "God bless me!" ejaculated the carpenter, rubbing his eyes, "can—can it be?" "Surely," screamed Mrs.
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