I sometimes laid away my father's clothes in his trunk. "The danger's past," whispered Bess. "Have nine years so changed me, that there is no trace left of your adopted son?" "God bless me!" ejaculated the carpenter, rubbing his eyes, "can—can it be?" "Surely," screamed Mrs. The last of Jarvis’s harlots must have departed in a hurry, for she had apparently left a roomful of clothes.
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