He will have it that I’ve taken leave of my senses. The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. I’ll give you grandpére!’ ‘But milor’—’ ‘Pardon!’ No longer master of his actions, the general lurched forward, waving his cane. " "Why, what'll you do?" demanded the turnkey. The curtain tinkled as her head brushed it, but he neither saw nor heard. E.
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