"Cease your confounded clutter!" said a young man, whose swarthy visage, seen in the torchlight, struck Wood as being that of a Mulatto. Very good. “All the time he is shouting and muttering. “How shall I put the question? What am I? What have I got to do with myself?. Heaven forbid. With this person—who was no other than Mr. E. ‘But my poor Jacques is wounded and—’ ‘All taken care of,’ interrupted Hilary.
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