Jack Kimble nodded eagerly. The more haste, the worse speed—better the feet slip than the tongue. John knew better. ” “I suppose we are,” said Vee, rearranging the flowers in her hand. This employment seemed to afford him the highest satisfaction; for a diabolical grin—it cannot be called a smile—played upon his face all the time he was engaged in it. His literary instincts began to stir.
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