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 was sorry for what I did afterwards; for, I don't know why, but, poor, lady! with her pale face, and black eyes, she reminded me of my mother. Part of her felt like laughing insanely at how badly she had been duped. They were a young man and an old one, and both appeared deeply affected. “Perhaps. "It is not too late to repair the wrong I have done my nephew," cried Trenchard.
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