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Spurlock knew that somewhere along the way he would write a story worth while. Ireton," cried Jack, in accents of the most urgent entreaty, "before you take me hence, I implore you—if you would further the ends of justice—search this house. Lucy sized up the girl. " And he struck up the following ballad:— SAINT GILES'S BOWL. Ruth?" "Why the devil not? Why do you suppose she married you if she didn't love you? While you read I watched her face.
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