You have somewhere to go to in London, I hope. Now do not make me any more arguments, but tell me at once where that pig is gone. "Because it's not like you," was her answer. She felt she was bound in honor to tell the whole affair to Manning sooner or later. I’ll pay it. Hence!" "Mother! dear mother!" cried Jack, in a voice, the tones of which were altered by his very anxiety to make them distinct, "listen to me. I’d rather die than hear any more fairytales. It would be downright cruel to disillusion her. She even thought that perhaps she might come to love him, in spite of that faint indefinable flavor of absurdity that pervaded his courtly bearing. She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. CHAPTER XXVII.
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