"Ireton, as you captured him, the reward is yours. He sounds to me like a soldier of fortune. John, he was between me and the door. I thought I'd been sufficiently explicit," continued Jonathan. Satisfied in this respect, he flung himself into a chair, for his iron frame seldom required the indulgence of a bed, and sought an hour's repose before he began the villanies of another day. At any rate, here I am, and here I shall be, twenty thousand feet above all your poison-reeking cities, up where God’s wind comes fresh from heaven, very near indeed to the untrodden snows.
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