It had been a big event for teens across town. Blood, they say, won't come out. “I say!” he cried. "Can't you take me with you?" urged the voice; "I'll make it well worth your while. Ireton," cried Jack, in accents of the most urgent entreaty, "before you take me hence, I implore you—if you would further the ends of justice—search this house. You must forgive the poet’s license I take. ‘Jacques, you have been very much my friend. Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners. "Where did you get this from?" asked Wild, greatly surprised at the result of his investigation.
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