The day was unseasonably humid and dark, a thick fog having descended over manicured lawns. " "Can I trust him?" mused Jack. His own heart was too full of melancholy foreboding. 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. She had need of a devoted cavalier and Jack had proved eminently valuable. You understand. " "I hear nothing, Sir," laughed Austin.
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