There was a gentle rustling of skirts. They were really very fine and abundant, with a blaze of perennial sunflowers behind them. He hated himself a little for it. As Jack appeared to be sinking fast, his fetters were removed, his own clothes were returned to him, and he was allowed a mattress and a scanty supply of bed-linen. “Ruin me? Think of me with fondness? Are you dying of cancer or something?” He demanded.
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