"So you're writing under a nom de plume, eh?" said McClintock, holding out the letter. All the village was assembled in the churchyard. He walked unsteadily towards the door. " "I can avenge her," cried Jack in a terrible tone. But it don't much matter—though he's a devilish shrewd fellow, and might have helped me out of a difficulty, had any occurred. "Who, then?" demanded Jack.
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