“I can’t believe it. "My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. She wondered abjectly whether he intended to rape her before she was dead. Cursing himself for his inertness, Jack soon shook off this drowsiness, and set to work in earnest. ‘I must. But now it’s beads by the cask—like the hold of a West African trader.
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