‘I think that was what began his downfall. "Oh! Jack! Jack!—you little know what a price I've paid for you!" "Well, I'm glad those women are gone," remarked Shotbolt. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. It became suddenly glaringly apparent to her that it was impossible to return fifteen pounds or any sum less than twenty pounds to Ramage—absolutely impossible. “But, dear, think! He is your father. And now she had sent Jack away. Sir John, who was standing outside, looked past him at the girl still sitting in the shadow.
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