Do you understand?” “I do not,” he answered. Sadly, the Christmas break came to an end. "Bravo, Poll!" cried Jack, who having again pinioned Shotbolt, was now tracing a few hasty lines on a sheet of paper. “I do not suppose he will be home till late. 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. "He's dead," exclaimed Austin. " "Whom do you mean?" demanded Jackson. "As I said before, I have little reliance upon professions of gratitude.
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