” She lingered over her tea, and glancing around, a sudden reflection on the change in her surroundings from the scene of her last night’s supper brought a faint, humorous smile to her lips. But she must stop him getting away. The next morning came a compact letter from her father. Acquainted with every part of the jail, Jack well knew that his only chance of effecting an escape must be by the roof. Her father—man of rock—had never needed her, whereas Hoddy, even if he did not love her, would always be needing her. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. He was not addicted to monologue, and the only audible comment he permitted himself at first upon a universe that was evidently anything but satisfactory to him that afternoon, was one compact and entirely unassigned “Damn!” The word must have had some gratifying quality, because he repeated it. And so Winifred understood him.
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