In spite of his shrieks, the miserable Jew was then dragged into the wellhole, and the rope being tied round his neck, he was launched from the bridge. "My portrait!" echoed Jack. There was a concerted gasp of shock from both the black-garbed lad and the coachman. Would you tell her … now?" his eyes flaming with mockery. But Blueskin was not to be silenced. She turned back into the hall. Perhaps these few words were the first real conscious words he had uttered in days.
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