Help—should she need it—from the natives was out of the question. Wood!" exclaimed Jack, in surprise. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. Of late, however, his plotting had assumed a more dark and dangerous complexion. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. .
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