He did not write this with lead but with his heart's blood. Could you come to tea at my rooms one afternoon, or would you dine with me somewhere, and do a theatre? We could have a private room, of course, if you do not wish to be seen about London, and a box at the theatre. He leaned towards her, laid his hand tenderly upon hers. What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. "And now, I've one further request," faltered Jack; "though I scarcely know how to make it.
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