He's a Welshman, and I wouldn't for a trifle that any accident befel him. 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. Manning came into her thoughts again, an unexpected, tall, dark, self-contained presence at the Fadden. A disconcerting gray eye that had a mystifying depth. Nothing could exceed the dismay of these personages when they learnt why they had been summoned. "I was right," replied Jack, returning as coolly as if nothing had happened.
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