“Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms. He picked up the broken fiddle and beckoned. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. Her voice shook, her eyes were very soft and melting. Sheppard, if you please, Ma'am," interrupted the lad; "I allow nobody to call me Jack. Arrived there, Jack felt about for a particular window; and having discovered the object of his search, and received the necessary implements from his companion, he instantly commenced operations. Her life hangs upon a thread, and this may snap it.
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