But she made no answer. She did not remember how many seasons it took before she relented, how much time before she decided to toy with his affections. "At my first being acquainted with the place," says this writer, in the 'Miseries of a Prison,' "the prisoners, methought, walking up and down the Stone Hall, looked like so many wrecks upon the sea. It felt too good. Old farmhouses loomed as they whizzed by, left behind in the gray like mourners. But she had loved the man. And will you look! His name neatly cut out from each title page. Before he could return, Jack had made good his retreat; and, wandering about the lanes and hedges, kept out of sight as much as possible. " "May be," returned the man gravely. "That's for Mrs. " "Uh-huh.
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