She helped Jack to sit down, and dragged the jacket off him, lifting his shirt to expose the gash that had sliced across his side. I know what I am doing better than you do. I love you—unendurably. Wood resounded from below. "Mother! dear mother!" cried Jack, folding her to his breast. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it.
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