“It isn’t a joke,” she said. Members of the crowd looked over their shoulders and stared at her through the smoky haze. . "Where is your accursed master?" demanded Blueskin, holding the sword to his throat. Perhaps that sealed letter was a form of confession, and thus relieved him on that score. The man pulled up his horse grumbling, and turned round. "But we must be getting along if we are to lunch in the tower of the water-clock. Indeed, it seemed inevitable that she must clear it up with his assistance, or not at all. Spurling," rejoined Ireton; "we can taste the rum when he returns. Jack hastily retreated, and taking the first means of concealment that occurred to him, descended the cellar steps.
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