"Ah! traitor!" cried Jack, pulling the trigger of his pistol. With the last glimmer of decency he had sent the daughter to his sister. " Man is a peculiar animal. Kneebone?" "He'd better not," muttered Blueskin. Selecting a key from the heavy bunch committed to him by Austin, he threw open the door, and beheld Blueskin seated at the back of the small chamber, handcuffed, and with his feet confined in a heavy pair of stocks. ‘And I’ll say it as often as I choose, you confounded impertinent wench! Who do you think you’re talking to? I’m your grandfather, girl. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. Taking the wind was her business in life.
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