"The plot's out!" cried Jack. “Of course,” she said diffidently, “this is a boarding-house, although we never take in promiscuous travellers. It was a dead calm. He would condemn her to the vengeance of the mob all for refusing to marry him. As she danced there was in her ears the faded echo of wooden tom-toms. Blotted out—Love! With infinite care, through nearly a thousand pages, her father had obliterated the word Love.
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