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Smith, Francis Hopkinson, 1838-1915

"Peter: a novel of which he is not the hero"


For some minutes Jack sat stretched out in his chair, his body
aslant; Peter still beside him. All the events of the day and
night passed in review before him; Garry's face and heavy
breathing; McGowan's visit and defiance; Corinne's agonized
shriek--even the remembrance made him creep--then Ruth's voice and
her pleading look: "The poor little boy. Jack. He has done no
wrong--all his life he must be pointed at."
He dragged himself to his feet.
"I will go back to Ruth now, Uncle Peter. Thank you for trying. I
know it is a wild goose chase, but I must keep moving. You will be
out to-morrow; we bury poor Garry at one o'clock. I still have all
day Monday. Good-night."
"Come out and dine with me, my boy--we will go to--"
"No, Ruth is worrying. I will get something to eat when I get
home. Good-night!"


CHAPTER XXIX


Jack descended Peter's stairs one step at a time, Each seemed to
plunge him the deeper into some pit of despair. Before he reached
the bottom he began to realize the futility of his efforts.


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