’ ‘I was called in, ma’am, to catch a French spy—at least, that is what Pottiswick thought. The beach: to get there as quickly as he could, to reach the white man's nadir of abasement and gather the promise of that soothing indifference which comes with the final disintegration of the fibres of conscience. "Ah! traitor!" cried Jack, pulling the trigger of his pistol.
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