" "It's a hopeless job," grumbled Blueskin, "and harm will come of it. Mr. "I swear it," rejoined Jonathan, readily. "I've done with you. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. I don't care how soon he learns that he has lost his adopted son.
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