On his appearance, Jack levelled a pistol at his head. ‘But my poor Jacques is wounded and—’ ‘All taken care of,’ interrupted Hilary. He dodged the boot this time, and smashed his left upon the Wastrel's lips, leaving them bloody pulp. Her eyes were lit with a gleam of humour. But a doll that rolled its eyes and had flaxen hair! Except for the manual labour—there had been natives to fetch and carry—she and Cosette were sisters in loneliness.
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