"Sit down, fool!" "Jack," said Kneebone, who had been considerably interested by the foregoing scene, "are these regrets for your past life sincere?" "Suppose them so," rejoined Jack, "what then?" "Nothing—nothing," stammered Kneebone, his prudence getting the better of his sympathy. “Who’s your violin teacher?” He asked. I love you—unendurably. What she said is true. He did not care whether the stories were accepted or not. “Why did you do it?” her aunt urged.
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