"A hundred pounds!" exclaimed Shotbolt. "Shoot him! shoot him! Put him out of hish mishery," cried the Jew. She ignored it until it repeated itself. Every now and then something familiar in her tone, the poise of her head, the play of her eyes startled him. You need not be afraid. But, no. ” “You may be sure of the one,” she murmured. I found it on the beach, just sitting there nestled inside a piece of driftwood.
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