"My mother,—my poor mother!" exclaimed Jack. “I might go home, I don’t know. Get you gone. I left him in charge of Quilt Arnold and Rykhart Van Galgebrok—the skipper I spoke of— with strict orders to shoot him if he made any further attempt at escape; and they're not lads—the latter especially—to be trifled with. This was not the sort of confession which he had been expecting.
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