"My mother,—my poor mother!" exclaimed Jack. "Thanks," he said, holding out a thin white hand. He was wary of her, which meant that perhaps they had found one or many of the bodies that she thought she had hidden so well. ” So they talked on whilst supper was served, falling easily into the spirit of the place, and yet both of them conscious of some new thing underlying the gaiety of their tongues and manner. Meat pies with sweet crust were stuffed with macaroni, steaks of pork and beef were pounded thin and grilled rare, capons had been marinated in plum wine and cinnamon, and veal sausages stewed in cream were served over fine noodles: all the dishes that he loved were present. I've seen many a clever cracksman, but never one like him. You're an angel of goodness.
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