"My father!" she whispered. "You don't eat," continued Kneebone, addressing Jack, who had remained for some time thoughtful, and pre-occupied with his head upon his hand. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. I’m sorry Lucy. You left Hong-Kong at night, by way of the Pearl River, and arrived in Canton the next morning.
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