But I was sorry for poor Jack—as I am still, and hoped he would mend. I was just like a sort of dummy that does things as it is told—that is to say, as the strings are pulled. "Nothing more than this," answered Kneebone,—"that after the failure of his projects, and the downfall of his party, he retired to his seat, Ashton Hall, near Manchester, and has remained there ever since, entirely secluded from the world. "And me," added Mrs. Jack now carefully closed the shutters, while Blueskin struck a light, with which he set fire to a candle. The fever came.
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