‘Come, I am concerned merely for your safety, you know. "Farewell for ever," said Jack, extending his hand to Mrs. ‘Well?’ she said. His sword-arm fell useless at his side and she knew herself safe. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. There was no longer any risk in association with her. And he liked her. Let me see now. He was not addicted to monologue, and the only audible comment he permitted himself at first upon a universe that was evidently anything but satisfactory to him that afternoon, was one compact and entirely unassigned “Damn!” The word must have had some gratifying quality, because he repeated it.
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