He stooped to recover it, and his face was hidden. The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. “You let him touch you!” John whispered back. 'Avow nothing, believe nothing, give nothing for nothing,' is my own motto. ‘Get the swords!’ ‘I’ll see to him. And life is much the same, whether taken in battle, on the couch, or by the road-side.
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