McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. " "Come, jump up," cried Blueskin, mounting his steed, "and I'll soon wisk you to town. "Be it so," replied Jack. "Is it gold?" "Pure gold," replied Kneebone. She was glad when he went on: “I want to be your city of refuge from every sort of bother. It was ten feet long, a relic.
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