" "My poor son!" groaned the widow, sinking backwards. S. Darting forward at this sound, Jack threw open the door, and beheld Quilt kneeling over Thames, who'se hands and feet were bound with cords, and about to plunge his sword into his breast. The rain smelled of the Tyrrhenian Sea, which lay only a few paces beyond the manor's white sea-soaked walls. The day was warm even under an overcast sky and Hilary, uncomfortable, shifted his weight.
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