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Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. She turned there and beckoned. The hansom sped through the crowded streets. If you'd read your husband's dying speech, you'd know that he laid his death at Jonathan's door,—and with reason too, as I can testify. The little spot of rouge was vivid enough now by reason of this new pallor, which seemed to draw the colour even from her lips.
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