"Give me your hand, Poll, to help me through," cried Jack, as he accomplished the operation. No one spoke to her. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. Hitherto she had seen it chiefly in pictures and other works of art, incidentally, and as a thing taken out of life. Wood struck me a blow which made me a robber. Meantime, every preparation had been made outside for his departure.
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