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Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend. He was perhaps forty-five years of age. ” “I’ve told you,” he said. Her mouth was once more covered as they left the second floor guest saloon and headed for the back stairs.
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