Eluding the blow, Jack plucked his sword from the scabbard, and a desperate conflict began. . He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage.
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