And yet that could not be: it was a confession only in the event of his death. “Anna,” he said, “you make it all indescribably hard for me. Without an idea where he was going, Jack pursued his way through the fields; and, as he proceeded, the numbness of his limbs in some degree wore off, and his confidence returned. He was as hard as a rock. All that confidence, born of irony, disappeared; and fear laid hold of him.
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