She felt herself falling, her bile rising in her 61 throat, the cold wind spinning around her like vertigo. “Mr. Ireton," cried Jack, in accents of the most urgent entreaty, "before you take me hence, I implore you—if you would further the ends of justice—search this house. She turned to Martha as the lad exited by the back door, but her nurse forestalled anything she might have said.
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