We aren’t worth it. " "Come, lad; let's have it," said McClintock. CHAPTER XII. "I hardly know," returned Jack; "but it's not safe for me to remain much longer here. Then we find out. But the letter, written in his son’s own hand, and addressed to the Mother Abbess of the Convent of the Sisters of Wisdom near Blaye in the district of Santonge, dated a little over five years previously, exercised a powerful effect upon him. She looked steadfastly out.
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