Without an idea where he was going, Jack pursued his way through the fields; and, as he proceeded, the numbness of his limbs in some degree wore off, and his confidence returned. Nobody knows what his real name is, but he's a Hollander. “What did it matter?” she cried. I want to get away—to go to London. His fingers cherished the hilt of his sword and his eyes were on his friend and superior, ready at his back to do whatever was needed.
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