“I wish you would not do it. “And what was that dreadful confession you had to make?” he was saying. He turned his eyes and stared at Miss Garvice like one who wakes from a
reverie, and then got up and strolled down the laboratory toward his refuge, the
preparation-room. On this side was a razor with
which a son had murdered his father; the blade notched, the haft crusted with
blood: on that, a bar of iron, bent, and partly broken, with which a husband had
beaten out his wife's brains. "What are you waiting for?" asked Jack, impatiently. If ever he requires my services, he shall find I'm not ungrateful. But then you're an adopted
son, and that makes all the difference.
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This video was uploaded to golfrealestateonline.com on 01-07-2024 23:11:53