"But I have one last request to make. "You don't eat," continued Kneebone, addressing Jack, who had remained for some time thoughtful, and pre-occupied with his head upon his hand. In each corner stood a stout square post reaching to the ceiling. They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. “It was perhaps my fault. He murmured his delight, and joined the bridge party, where he played with less than his accustomed skill. Part of his head was swathed in linen bandages.
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