" "I didn't suspect you of so much superstition, Mr. White said. He would have to make sure of her silence. "Them's catchpoles, I s'pose, Sir, arter the gemman with a writ?" he observed. Seven hundred forty-two dollars and eighty-one cents, the sum total of her money in the world that she hid in a filigreed cigar box shelved behind her schoolbooks. Her expression was a little changed, less innocent, more discerning. ‘They weren’t no soldiers. And now take away those cards, and never let me see them again. "I don't deserve it," he said, at length; "but I would have risked a thousand deaths to enjoy this moment's happiness. "You've got him?" demanded Ireton.
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