‘But you do not understand, mon ami. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. “Contrarily, you are sitting on a sepulcher of death! It 30 is only a matter of time before the Pestilence strikes here again, Gianfrancesco. That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap. He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened.
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