Raising the bowl in his right hand, Jack glanced towards the balcony, in which the group of ladies were seated, and begged to drink their healths; he then turned to Kneebone and the others, who extended their hands towards him, and raised it to his lips. “I love you, I always will. Listen, Jack. Sheppard. For ten years I've been trying to go home, but my conscience will not permit me, I hate the Orient. Jack Kimble. " "Oh. " "Your own was equally so," said Jackson ironically.
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