I would that you were my own. 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. “What’s going on with you?” John asked inquisitively, looking down at her abdomen. CHAPTER XXIV.
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