On the floor was a handkerchief, a little morsel of lace. She was trying to adjust the wimple, dragging at it and fighting with her loosened hair. Nothing disheartened by this survey, Jack set to work upon the lock, which he attacked with all his implements;—now attempting to pick it with the nail;— now to wrench it off with the bar: but all without effect. “How dared you do yourself this injustice?” “I did it for her sake,” she answered. Enough's as good as a feast of the dainties you provide.
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