She helped Jack to sit down, and dragged the jacket off him, lifting his shirt to expose the gash that had sliced across his side. "If you get out o' that cage, I'll forgive you. He did not so much cut into this conversation as loom over it, for he was a tall, if rather studiously stooping, man. I have nothing, nothing that can possibly be passion for you. He's down in Patagonia somewhere. Cocked hats and buckled swords spoke of rank.
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