"Give me your hand, Poll, to help me through," cried Jack, as he accomplished the operation. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. How long do you think it will take him to put two and two together?’ ‘Eh bien, then if he will try to harm me, I will kill him.
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