In the middle there was a gate. Jack's former attempt to pass up the chimney, it may be remembered, was obstructed by an iron bar. He patted the hand on his sleeve. It felt too good. She hoped that he would at long last remember his young male pride. Manning,” she said, “for a time—Will you tell no one? Will you keep this—our secret? I’m doubtful—Will you please not even tell my aunt?” “As you will,” he said.
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