"Added to which, she is neither so young as she was, nor, is her temper by any means improved—hem!" "Say no more on the subject, Sir," observed the stranger, gravely; "but let us turn to a more agreeable one—her daughter. 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. At least here she was safe. She was a merry creature, it is true, and quite beautiful. In a moment his grasp grew weaker. ‘I rather gathered as much,’ said Miss Froxfield, releasing her hands.
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