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Jack now carefully closed the shutters, while Blueskin struck a light, with which he set fire to a candle. There was the stile on which Jonathan had sat, and he recollected distinctly the effect of his mocking glance— how it had hardened his heart against his mother's prayer. “Why don’t you wear your white blouse more often? It is the prettiest shirt you own. A sense of loss was amongst us. As usual, however, on the occasion of any great calamity, a crowd was scouring the streets, whose sole object was plunder.
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