Even now, during the recurring doubts of the future, the thought of the island was repellent. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. ‘Well! I hadn’t no notion as he’d got hisself married again. There were menacing possibilities; the thought of them set him a-tremble. I’ve never met any one like you. “You are going to treat me as though I wasn’t. " "Where are you going?" asked his mother. " "Time will show," replied Jack with equal haughtiness. On that night, I surrendered myself to Jonathan Wild, and became— what I am. ” “Why did you tell me? I thought—I thought we were going to be friends.
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