He was silent. " "Arm yourself with that ruffian's weapons," replied Jack, "and let us search for her. “But Sir John?” he exclaimed. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. Flattened flowers aren’t for the likes of us.
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