‘I’m not going to arrest you, young Jack—yet. “I suppose I should let go if I had. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. His build was medium, he would never 5 tower over his peers, yet his shoulders were broadening, betrayed by an undeveloped set of pectoral muscles underneath his button-down shirt that she could tell frustrated him. "Because—because I'm always distrustful of a priest," rejoined Jonathan.
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