The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. Running his hand carefully over it in search of the lock, he perceived to his dismay that it was fastened on the other side. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. “I did not recognize him,” Anna answered.
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