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"Whose child can this be?" "How the devil should I know!" replied Jonathan gruffly. ‘Don’t, miss,’ uttered the boy. “John, we should be getting out of here. "Come on, my lads!" vociferated Blueskin, "we'll unkennel the old fox. "You thank Heaven for the escape of the man who did his best to get your child's neck twisted. Kneebone and his friends would be glad of a little refreshment. Only her ungloved fingers, and the arms in their long tight sleeves as she held the heavy gun aloft, bore any sign of stiffness. "There's another instance of your wilfulness and want of taste. You may enjoy your pride, your arrogance—in a coffin.
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