" "We won't trust you, my youngster," answered the janizary. "My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. She let them fall and sped to the companion, where she stood for a moment, the moonlight giving her a celestial touch.
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