Treading with noiseless step over the soft mould, they soon reached the building. A chill rain thrummed against the sides of John’s car, having slowed from deluge to steady patter, the snow was 158 dissolved where it lay. That’s got his nerves to rags. "I loved you," replied Jack,—"don't start—it is over now—I loved you, I say, as a boy. I wonder if a man can quite understand that passionate feeling? It is quite a passionate feeling.
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