She cut a deep gash into her own arm with a steel screw, loosing drops of her own blood onto the floorboards. His eyes were fixed upon the tablecloth. "Are you his ghost, then?" "No—no," answered Jack. "What is a sing-song girl?" she asked. Was she a fool to wish a person of a disposition altogether not pleasing to marry her? Was it not true that he made a game with her very often? Had he not been extremely interfering from the beginning? And had he not kissed her, just when— Her thoughts skidded to a stop.
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