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. "Mr. Enschede—that's a queer name. Scissors with which to cut her hair, just in case. And he departed, just as Wood, who had become alarmed by Thames's long absence, made his appearance with a blunderbuss in his hand. They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. "Mercy on us!" cried he, as a thrill of apprehension ran through his frame.
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