He was not addicted to monologue, and the only audible comment he permitted himself at first upon a universe that was evidently anything but satisfactory to him that afternoon, was one compact and entirely unassigned “Damn!” The word must have had some gratifying quality, because he repeated it. We’ll run away together, we’ll elope. ‘The major thinks she’s worth it,’ put in Prudence quietly. "Then, by Heaven! you are a dead man!" replied Jack, cocking a pistol, and pointing it deliberately at his head. Their journey had made them indolent, the afternoon was warm, and it seemed impossible to breathe a sweeter air. " "What proof have you that I am?"—was the return bolt.
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