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“It does not appear to me,” he said, stiffly, “to be an affair for jests. ‘I do not command your services, mon major. I can smell you. In any case, there was no doing anything on a Sunday and Brewis Charvill, his main quarry, had gone out of town unexpectedly. His fellow-prisoners nicknamed him the gallows-provider, from a habit he had of picking out all those who were destined to the gibbet. ‘Odd sort of a nun. "Are you hurt, Thames?" asked Jack, anxiously.
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