Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. "I understand," she said. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. Look out, it’s coming.
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