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They then swiftly mounted the stairs, and stopped before the audience-chamber. The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. Sometimes I think you would have been much better off if you had been born in death-worshipping Egypt instead of in the Fourteenth Century. ‘It is nothing at all of the kind. Eyebrows knitting, she looked towards the ground a few feet away from him, guiltily.
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