The books would be soaked and ruined in the rain anyway through the thin skin of the pack. " "Farewell, Jack," cried twenty voices. When Jack entered the cell, she was talking to herself in the muttering unconnected way peculiar to her distracted condition; but, after her eye had rested on him some time, the fixed expression of her features relaxed, and a smile crossed them. “Did you—did you really think that they would take you for a Frenchman?” she exclaimed.
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