“Promise me that you’ll never tell another living soul, John. Go to her, I say, and take her in your arms, you poor benighted Ironsides! I can't make you see. ‘But it is entirely myself,’ she exclaimed aloud. They would arrest him for the French spy they had thought her at first. ‘Up, Jacques, up,’ she ordered. Though encumbered by his irons, his step was firm, and his demeanour dignified.
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