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Read that letter, Thames—my lord marquis, I mean. "Well, gentlemen," rejoined Wood, mildly; "since Mr. The chair was torture. Her cogitations were dissipated by a knock on the door. The back windows of the houses (where any such existed) were strongly barricaded, and kept constantly shut; and the fortress was, furthermore, defended by high walls and deep ditches in those quarters where it appeared most exposed. Her eyes quizzed the major. Wood," returned Jackson, with the utmost composure; "you're a headborough, and a loyal subject of King George. I was not even sure whether it was loaded.
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