It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. "He's not to blame," said Jack, rising. I will lay them all at your feet. Jesus! They just wouldn’t let up about you after you played the violin for them. And she would have rushed to him, if she had not been forcibly withheld by her son. Flinging her back against it, she put her hands out, barring his way. A tall, clean-shaven man came out and walked rapidly through the room, exchanging greetings right and left, but evidently anxious to avoid being detained.
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