"And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. I want to boast myself. The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. It’s just like your Splendid Pride to do it. She tried not to blush. " "Be it so," replied the knight, who saw the force of this reasoning.
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