"And now," cried Jack, leaping up, "for an achievement, compared with which all I have yet done shall be as nothing!" CHAPTER XVII. . The children made us slaves, and the men took advantage of it. Now Owen Wood had one fair child, Unlike her mother, meek and mild; Her love the draper strove to gain, But she repaid him with disdain. At present the world waits for that writer, and the confused record of the newspapers remains the only resource of the curious. I spent this afternoon in detention.
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