Eluding the blow, Jack plucked his sword from the scabbard, and a desperate conflict began. The thought of you, wandering from pillar to post, believing yourself hunted—it tore my old heart to pieces! For I knew you. The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father.
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