Nab and Quilt to the door! Jack, you are my prisoner. But you,” he continued, moving imperceptibility a little nearer to her, “you are mine. Then he stepped briskly to his feet and bent over the wounded man. It was maddening to be made to feel that he was in any way the inferior of this cool, self-possessed young woman, whose eyes seemed for a moment to scintillate with scorn. He passed, and came loitering back and stood beside her, silently looking into her face.
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