"You are my prisoner. " Winifred was going to say "No," but she checked herself; and, with cheeks mantling with blushes, murmured, "I wish you wouldn't tease me about Jack Sheppard. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. It was if the world had blinked out for a moment. The office is a sight—not one sheet of paper on another; bills and receipts everywhere. Perhaps that sealed letter was a form of confession, and thus relieved him on that score. "And Jack?" "Gone too," sobbed his daughter. He never said hello, as if it had become a personal taboo for him.
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