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Jack! Mon dieu, but he was unarmed. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. I can't give you my hand; but you may take it. “You will write to me, I am sure—and from the date of your letter I trust most earnestly that I may come back to my old place as “Your devoted friend, “WALTER BRENDON. “I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen.
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