I didn’t think—I don’t know what I thought. "Who, then?" demanded Jack. " "Better she die by her own hand, than by that monster's," cried Jack, brandishing the bar. ‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily. She had left for ever the cage, the galling leash: she was free. Lucy jammed her foot down onto Mark McCloskey’s forehead. Wood in very characteristic attitudes, occupied a prominent place on the walls.
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