. " "Farewell, Jack," cried twenty voices. “I can’t endure it,” she said. It was an unspoken curfew in the Beck house on week nights. It isn’t illusions—for us. As the time when his identity had to be proved approached, this rigour was, in a trifling degree, relaxed, and a few persons were occasionally admitted to the ward, but only in the presence of Austin. It was not possible for him to have been deceived.
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