“Mr. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. "Some dreadful deed is about to be committed, which I may perhaps prevent," muttered Jack to himself. The one fault, indeed, of this school of fiction for him was that it had rather a light way with parental rights. Her figure was perfect,—tall, graceful, rounded,—and, then, she had deep liquid blue eyes, that rivalled the stars in lustre. As sure as he is now living, I'll pay him a visit in the Old Bailey before morning.
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