He dared not go on. "What shall I say? Shall I tell you, or shall I leave you in the dark—as I must always leave her? What shall I say except that I am accursed of men? Yes; I have loved something—her mother. Jack paused for a moment, and found that his own adventures formed the subject of the ballad. "Winifred Wood will never marry, unless the grave can give up its dead. It doesn't matter that you deal with black people. Now go. She was nearly dead. Murder, I say, has been done! Another murder will be committed if you don't prevent it.
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