As soon as Jack gained his legs, he perceived Blueskin lying, as he thought, dead in the plantation, with a severe cut across his temples, and while he was stooping to assist him, he heard groans at a little distance. It must have cut him. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. I’m not a bit afraid of anything—scandal, difficulty, struggle.
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