’ Kimble frowned direfully, staring at the weapon with its gold hilt and decorative pattern down the blade. It was his turn to express astonishment. You are not with the Kent militia, are you?’ ‘West Kent, yes. And if you mean that he may have reconciled himself with his own father, you waste your breath. Nothing disheartened by this survey, Jack set to work upon the lock, which he attacked with all his implements;—now attempting to pick it with the nail;— now to wrench it off with the bar: but all without effect. "Here we part,—perhaps for ever.
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