He was twenty-nine at the time, practically an old man. "What's your name?" he said, addressing the audacious lad, who was looking about him as coolly as if nothing material was going on. He sat with folded arms and knitted brows, thinking intently. I begin to understand Jane Austen and chintz covers and decency and refinement and all the rest of it. "Stop!" exclaimed Jack, planting himself before the door; "do you want to get me sent across the water?" "I want to save you from disgrace and ruin," returned Thames. You know—if you want freedom.
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