"This locket," he said, taking a little ornament attached to a black ribband from his breast, and giving it her,—"do you remember it?" "I do—I do!" cried Winifred. "Give me your hand, Poll, to help me through," cried Jack, as he accomplished the operation. The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. . You’d think he wanted to meet the wretch again.
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