3. 270 “Curse that boy!” He chuckled and stomped the water. Jack's body was caught, and passed from hand to hand over a thousand heads, till it was far from the fatal tree. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. “You look more like your old self when you smile,” he remarked. Which were perfectly true, as Gerald was aware. It was on the eve of that memorable rebellion which broke forth, two months later, in Scotland.
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