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Jack instantly sprang to his feet, and as his guards construed the motion into an attempt to escape, several of them drew their swords and motioned to him to sit down. Stanley pointed to the letter with a pipe he had drawn from his jacket pocket. Something, then, to appease the wrath of God; something to blunt this persistent agony. "Here I am, Captain," cried a voice from without. Grasping it firmly with both hands, he quickly wrenched if from the stones in which it was mortised, and leapt to the ground. I’m sorry.
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