You go cheer him up. "No, lad," said McClintock, his tone becoming kindly. Darrell stopped, and drew his sword. ‘You cannot mean General Charvill?’ ‘That old martinet?’ exclaimed Roding. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. The place was gloomy, with its darkly panelled walls, but it was sparsely furnished.
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