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"Give me your hand, Poll, to help me through," cried Jack, as he accomplished the operation. His arm closed in around her middle and she was caught. I cannot live without you, Anna. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation.
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