" "Don't anger him, my dear son," implored the poor widow, with a look of anguish at Jack. Having seen his mistress safe down, Jack instantly descended, leaving the best part of his clothes, as a memorial of his flight, to the jailor. It must be somewhere hereabouts. She was alone, and the mask of her unchanging high spirits was for the moment laid aside. I want to be your knight, your servant, your protector, your—I dare scarcely write the word—your husband.
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