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She held it by the neck and broke the end of the bottle on the hard dirt. 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. "Shoot him! shoot him! Put him out of hish mishery," cried the Jew. The buboes broke and God took Lucia's mother. I never even burrowed down into the trunk.
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