I wonder,” he added, after a moment’s pause, “whether you ever realize how young you are. She saw marks in the dirt where he had been pacing. How she learned of her heritage I do not know, but you need not imagine that it is greed that drives her. There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. Flesh and blood, vivid, alluring; she was no longer the symbol, therefore she had become, as in the twinkling of an eye, an utter stranger. Yet he was in a state of hopeless bewilderment. " While this order was obeyed, Figg, who had been standing near the door, made his way to the prisoner, and offered him his huge hand, which Jack warmly grasped.
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