"What do you mean?" cried Winifred in alarm. She almost submitted to this ending of her adventure. "I must have dropped it when I took out my note-book. “You needn’t be anxious about that! I shall contrive to live. The sword, Jacques. I am not French in the least. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. On all hands Jack was cheered, and Jonathan hooted.
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