She herself, and one other there, recognized the interposition of something akin to tragedy. The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. Jonathan threw open the street-door. Here, turnkey. " "Jack," replied Thames, greatly moved, "I wish I could devise any means of brightening your own dark prospects. ’ ‘I swear to you, it is the exact truth,’ he protested.
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