Entering the outer gate, and traversing the broad gravel walk before-mentioned, Jack ascended the steps, and was admitted, on feeing the porter, by another iron gate, into the hospital. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. They were familiar but more massive. Jack now carefully closed the shutters, while Blueskin struck a light, with which he set fire to a candle. The devastations, however, were speedily made good, and, in two years more, it was finished.
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