"He must be somewhere hereabouts," cried one of the horsemen, dismounting. Then she passed from the room on the arm of General Lord Charvill, chatting animatedly to him. He would always see the picture of the huge, raw-boned Dutchman, haranguing and thundering the word of God into the dull ears of South Sea Islanders, who, an hour later, would be carrying fruit penitently to their wooden images. But Jack was too nimble for him.
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