144 I think he heard about the backpack and the spitballs finally. "Upon him!" "Yield, villain, or die!" shouted Thames, drawing his sword and springing towards him. "What's that?—Jack's voice!" "It is," replied her son. Perhaps her odd beauty—and that too was natural—stirred these thoughts into being. "Of course," rejoined the bystander, who had just spoken, and who was of a cynical turn,—"the greater the rascal, the better they like him. It was one of the secret troubles of her mind, this grotesque twist her ideas would sometimes take, as though they rebelled and rioted.
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