The confirmed drunkard's mouth at length sets itself peculiarly; it becomes the mark by which thoughtful men know him. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. "I can't tell you!" she replied, blushing deeply, and clinching her little hand as tightly as possible; "it's a secret!" "I'll soon find it out, then," he returned, playfully forcing the paper from her grasp. “Let’s go home.
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