Ireton," cried Jack, in accents of the most urgent entreaty, "before you take me hence, I implore you—if you would further the ends of justice—search this house. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. “Thank God,” he exclaimed. Of all the amazing coincidences. Then I tucked it nice and snug under the saddle-bag. ‘Idiot.
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