"So did I," answered Jack; "we had better move on. The Becks as a 187 family didn’t talk or ruminate over Mike’s or Lucy’s past much. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. The summer arrived, speeding the Plague and with it the famine in the streets. I cannot go on. " "This I do know," continued Jack,—"Jonathan Wild superintends the attack. His face fell.
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