“Thank you. Earles threw down his pen with a little exclamation. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. " "Others may, if you won't," muttered Jack, retiring. The black, meantime, began to ply his hammer, and speedily unriveted the chains. That delightful sense of free, unembarrassed movement was gone. Softly she rose to her feet. Hang the wench! Roding was right.
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