"Your uncle, Sir Rowland?" "It is no idle boasting," replied the other. The lunches were individual affairs: sandwiches, bottled olives and jam commandeered from the Victoria. At this terrible juncture, Jack maintained his composure,—a smile played upon his face before the cap was drawn over it,—and the last words he uttered were, "My poor mother! I shall soon join her!" The rope was then adjusted, and the cart began to move.
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