" "Faithful fellow!" murmured Jack. ‘Of course it is,’ corroborated Hilary. She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. Amid the confusion, Shotbolt sprang to his feet, and levelling a pistol at Jack's head, commanded him to surrender; but, before any reply could be made, the jailer's arm was struck up by Blueskin, who, throwing himself upon him, dragged him to the ground. That would not help her.
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