"I do," replied Jack, carelessly. Their expression was so amiable, that it would have redeemed a countenance a thousand times plainer than hers. This time she was indeed beaten. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. He sat up in his chair as though the question had stung him. Wood, contemptuously. The chamber, into which he stole, like all carpenters' workshops, was crowded with the implements and materials of that ancient and honourable art.
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