What is done cannot be undone. If Jack should die, all though her fault, she could never forgive herself. The cell in which she was confined was about six feet long and four wide; the walls were scored all over with fantastic designs, snatches of poetry, short sentences and names,—the work of its former occupants, and of its present inmate. Courtlaw rose to his feet. "Why do you ask?" rejoined the other haughtily. I shall take to him as nat'ral as if he were my own flesh and blood afore long.
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