She had hardly noticed the loss of her dagger, so strong had been the waves of relief that attacked her on hearing that Jack had returned from death’s door. He will be some time in this comatose state. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. How she had hated it!… All these mumblings which were never explained, which carried no more sense to her brain than they would have carried to Old Morgan's swearing parrot. “Shhh.
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