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‘Then I don’t advise you to visit Remenham House. '" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face. She gave me an impression of a sort of patched quilt; little bits of patterned stuff coming up again and again. Know that I love you, that I will always love you. "Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. “But what can one do?” asked Ann Veronica. The younger of the two, who was seated next to Jack, and seemed to monopolize his attention, could not be more than seventeen, though her person had all the maturity of twenty. In vain did the woollendraper offer to set him free if he would restore the stolen article, or give up his associate, to whom it was supposed he might have handed it. Apologizing for their detention, he answered the questions put to him respecting the boys, by positively denying that any such prisoners had been entrusted to his charge, but offered to conduct him to every cell in the building to prove the truth of his assertion. The guards, horse and foot, and constables formed a wide circle round it to keep off the mob.
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