“An uncle in New York is dead, and has left him loads of money. There was no broken faith—not even any question of anything of the sort. "A capital instrument for my purpose," thought Jack, shouldering it, "and worth all the trouble I have had in procuring it. Her gaze flickered down to his pistol. I’m sorry to hurt your feelings. "We shall be obliged to force it. Fly! fly!" "Do not think of me, mother, but of yourself," cried Jack, in an agony of tears.
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