Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. "The warrant for his execution is arrived. “Agreed,” he said with queer exaltation, and his grip tightened on her hand. There was a certain air of forced fortuity in his manner. Blueskin therefore had nothing to stop him.
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