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"In Heaven's name! what's all this?" cried Wood. ‘You make a game with me, I think. You simply can't get good oil down there, so I must husband the few drams I carry. "Your son," replied Jack,—"your miserable, repentant son. You don’t know what you’re saying, and I hope you never will. " "What proof have you that I am?"—was the return bolt. There was a look in her eyes which puzzled him.
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