One night, she drew close to him in bed, trying to warm herself by embracing his back. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. "What is it?" "The night," she answered. The gun flew from his hand, clacking on the floor. " "Help me through at all hazards, Poll," cried Jack, straining towards the opening. Nobody could possibly find him now.
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