Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. Shrinking involuntarily back into the farthest corner of the seat, Jack buried his face in his hands. “She has gone down into the country. Where can I have heard it!" "Devil knows," rejoined Blueskin. "Close the wicket, Austin," vociferated Ireton, in an authoritative tone. "Fly, Captain—fly!" Aroused to a sense of the possibility of escape, Jack, who had viewed the deadly assault with savage satisfaction, burst from his captors and made for the door. Clergymen were human.
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