That was how she projected it, and in general terms it seemed plausible and possible. " "I do not doubt it," returned Jack; "none but those who have experienced it can understand the miseries of imprisonment. Blotted out—Love! With infinite care, through nearly a thousand pages, her father had obliterated the word Love. Give me the chisel, Blueskin. No amount of scrubbing could remove the stains, the blood of an unknown man she had stolen from the scene of a car accident, a stupid drunk with no license who had wrapped his Chevy truck around a very large oak tree. “I am fairly well known here.
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