Hill again—alive. This morning he heard voices—McClintock's and the Wastrel's. "Sit down, fool!" "Jack," said Kneebone, who had been considerably interested by the foregoing scene, "are these regrets for your past life sincere?" "Suppose them so," rejoined Jack, "what then?" "Nothing—nothing," stammered Kneebone, his prudence getting the better of his sympathy. He was always drawing contrasts between a woman’s lot and a man’s, and treating her as a wonderful new departure in this comparison.
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