“I find it very hard to write this letter. He was pretty successful in Manchester,—a town which may be said to have been the head-quarters of the disaffected. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. S. I have a big breakfast.
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