"These writer chaps are queer birds. Let us search it. I'll have a peep at him, if I die for it," she muttered, as she went out. Still keeping ahead of his pursuers, he ran along the direct road, till the houses disappeared and he got into the open country. Where her husband saw only two youngsters in the mating mood, she felt that tragedy in some phase lurked in this room—if only in the loneliness of these two, without kith or kin apparently, thousands of miles from home. ‘I dropped the lantern,’ Jack’s muffled voice told her.
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