‘What do you do here?’ demanded the young lady, moving to meet him. She still had her letter of credit. Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. I'm glad to recognise you.
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