” Nigel Ennison looked up with a little start. Still silence everywhere. “Is that all you have to say?” Michelle challenged her. "What's that?—Jack's voice!" "It is," replied her son. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. A chill ran through his frame, and, grasping the heavy weapon with which chance had provided him, prepared to strike down the first person who should enter the cell.
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