"Are you his ghost, then?" "No—no," answered Jack. “This life is killing me! Oh, it is dull, dull, dull!” Suddenly an idea seemed to strike her. It had been his fevered imagination that had endued the garment with some extraordinary value. His fingers cherished the hilt of his sword and his eyes were on his friend and superior, ready at his back to do whatever was needed. Why, then, did he touch it? As he climbed heavily into his chair, she was able to note the little beads of sweat under the cracked nether lip.
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