What sort of a standard of life yours may be I do not know, yet in your heart you know very well that every word you have spoken to me has been a veiled insult, every time you have come into my presence has been an outrage. No, don’t let me call myself that. "Oh! they are—are they?" muttered Jack, triumphantly; "that'll do. His hair is oddly streaked with gray —I might say a dishonourable gray.
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