"For the caption!" replied Jackson, coolly drawing a brace of pistols from his pockets. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words. Jack had brought away the bunch of keys which he had taken from Quilt Arnold, but, none of them would open it. They sat down in a covered pavilion that housed a grimy picnic table and a dingy fire pit. "Well, I've seen many a gallant fellow in my time, Mr.
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