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“I’m thirsty. And a ballot-box—” Her face assumed an expression of intellectual conflict. If Jack should die, all though her fault, she could never forgive herself. At last she was roused. "Is it poison?" she asked. " "What ho! Blueskin!" shouted Jack. She is more dear to me than anything else. ‘I do not know if even I can do anything now. ” 174 < 21 > THANKSGIVING She padded softly up the old stairs, exhausted and elated.
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