" The hint was not lost upon Wood. ‘I can’t think how I’ve tolerated myself all these years. "Why, of hanging the fellow who acts as his jackal; one Blake, or Blueskin, I think he's called. She drew up a chair and sat down, putting her palm on the damp, cold forehead. 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. " "Understand what?" "You or this girl. " "On no account," rejoined Wood peremptorily. " "I'd never set eyes on you again. You're welcome to it. You know you do, Annabel. You have grown into my life.
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