Darting forward at this sound, Jack threw open the door, and beheld Quilt kneeling over Thames, who'se hands and feet were bound with cords, and about to plunge his sword into his breast. ‘Who, the émigrés?’ ‘Do I speak of the English, imbecile? Certainly the émigrés. It drives him to my island, where I can study him to my heart's content. And an Englishman, which is my right of birth. Don’t take my word for it though.
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