She longed to own something lasting, anything, but knew her wishes to be stupid. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. It slid off flimsily. She wondered who the girl might belong to as she patted dirt over the shallow grave. Placing chairs, therefore, he invited the ladies to be seated, and, paying a similar attention to Jack, began to help to the various dishes, and otherwise fulfil the duties of a host. It hardly served his interests. But tell me," he added with much anxiety, "has nothing been heard of Thames since the night of my former escape?" "Nothing whatever," answered Winifred.
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