"Good-b'ye, Jack," said Figg, putting on his hat. So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably. Yet she could not bring herself to hate the girl, or even Gianfrancesco, the one who would have sent her to her death more than once. Mrs. Shari was snoring soundly. ” She shook her head, snapping out of her reverie.
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