" "Do you mock me?" cried Jack, levelling a pistol at him. “MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. "I've made no distinction between you, hitherto," answered Wood; "nor shall I do so, unless I'm compelled. Now tell me, if you can, something about the man who calls himself Valade. If you choose, you can see him put on board the Zeeslang yourself, Sir Rowland. His first reaction had been explosive as the hurts of the past rose up to taunt him. He did not so much cut into this conversation as loom over it, for he was a tall, if rather studiously stooping, man. This did not affect Spurlock. Get on, do. They had cried a little, both.
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