‘You knew her well, Miss Mary?’ Mrs Ibstock turned at the window. "Humph!" exclaimed Jonathan, doubtfully. 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. The door to the room in question was closed. The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard.
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