She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. "I guessed as much. "To-night it is their turn," said Jonathan, binding up his wounded fingers with a handkerchief. Oh! you haven't got the key—then I must have it, I suppose. " "Can I trust him?" mused Jack.
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