Her mother had prepared her for everything. But I was sorry for poor Jack—as I am still, and hoped he would mend. To find the incentive! But how? Thither and yon the idea roved, seeking the way. Towards this box Sharples directed his steps, and, unlocking a hatch in the door, disclosed a recess scarcely as large, and certainly not as clean, as a dog-kennel. I’d rather die than hear any more fairytales. From midnight until morning he was now left alone. I found him lying like this, the bleeding partly stopped by this scarf, else he had been dead by now.
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