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. “Just the box only. It doesn't look bad, does it?" "Mercy, no! That wasn't the thought. He was wrapped in a laced roquelaure, which he threw off on his entrance into the room. “Let’s go home.
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