" "Wretch!" cried Jack, raising his hand in a menacing manner, "your triumph will be short-lived. But the father, to go his way forever alone! The iron in the man!—the iron in this child of his! Wanting a little love, a caress now and then. To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt. The acid of this incertitude had disintegrated his nerve; and in Canton had come the smash. In mailing the tales he had not enclosed return postage or the equivalent in money.
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