“Alone, dear?” “Yes, aunt. Half an hour afterwards the body of Jack was carefully examined. This time there wasn't any doubt. He tasted like cinders and ash, but not of smoke. Until Leonardo. Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him.
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