I beg that you will consider me your friend. But don’t think your heroic milice will save you. ‘Marry an Englishman! Which Englishman?’ Melusine shrugged. 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.
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