I don’t think they do matter. For the present the desire to fly was gone. ‘I dropped the lantern,’ Jack’s muffled voice told her. “But I must, I will,” he answered fiercely. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. "Hell-hounds!" he cried; "release me!" At the same moment, Quilt Arnold rushed forward with such haste, that, stumbling over William Morgan, he precipitated him into the grave.
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