“You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently. ” She said as she rested her head against his chest, eyes unfocused on the fading sky. To this Jack replied, that he should be perfectly contented, provided he might have a small allowance of gin. The dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods. This time she feinted as his point came up to deflect her own, and disengaging, passed under and cut at his cheek. "Sir Cecil is no more.
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