" "I feel it," replied Jack, in a tone of agony, "and I feel it more on my poor mother's account than my own. He felt like a boy again, the taste for adventures was keen upon his palate, the whole undiscovered world of rhythmical things, of love and poetry and passion seemed again to him a real and actual place, and he himself an adventurer upon the threshold. “Only you are the woman I love, and you are in trouble. ” “No? But it is very simple. His literary instincts were reviving. He looked at his friend.
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