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’ ‘Yolande, my maid?’ ‘You don’t need a maid,’ Martha said stoutly. "My mother,—my poor mother!" exclaimed Jack. "Well, gentlemen," rejoined Wood, mildly; "since Mr. They both listened intently. Not far from the entrance, on the left, was a sort of screen, or partition-wall, reaching from the floor to the ceiling, formed of thick oaken planks riveted together by iron bolts, and studded with broad-headed nails. Maybe the girl was telling the truth, and then again, maybe she wasn't. “Married already,” he said, with his mouth full.
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