But don’t run away with the idea that I’m hanging out for a wife at last, because I’m not. Spare me yet a little while, Father! not for my own sake, but for the sake of this poor babe. A hundred pounds to the man who takes him. “Cheveney wouldn’t have anything to say about it, as it happens,” he remarked, a little grimly. In a moment or two, Madame Valade recovered her sangfroid. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. " "Come, lad; let's have it," said McClintock. ‘Espèce de bête,’ she snarled.
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