"Leave me to my fate," rejoined Jack. "' Instead of regarding him, Jack glanced over the iron bannisters, and measured the distance. Death belongs to God, young man. "Let us fly from this frightful place. " Her attitude now entirely sisterly, he ceased to be afraid of her; there was never anything in her eyes (so far as he could see) but friendly interest in all he said or did. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience.
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