‘Sapristi,’ he gasped. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. Jack fell on his knees beside her. All the money he earned—serving McClintock and the muse—could be laid away. He could not tell whether she was English or American. "Like master like man," observed Jack as he rolled the inanimate body to the side of the road. ” He released her hand and talked in eager undertones against an auditory background of urgency and distress. .
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