There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves. "You've got him?" demanded Ireton. Shoving between them, she confronted the captain herself. Just as the attendants were preparing to lower the corpse into the earth, Jack fell on his knees beside the coffin, uttering the wildest exclamations of grief, reproaching himself with the murder of his mother, and invoking the vengeance of Heaven on his own head. He growled in his throat and, thrusting his coat open, revealed his own buckled sword-belt. There was a case, or something, some years ago.
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