He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. “Yes! I must! The thing is becoming a torture to me. He reached the top floor and ran down the corridor to the little dressing room at the end where he had lost her before. ’ He reached into an inner pocket of his coat and brought out a packet of papers. Ah! I shall never forget the figure Jack cut on that occasion.
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