The more haste, the worse speed—better the feet slip than the tongue. Contenting himself with brandishing the weapon in the Jew's eyes, he exerted all his force to prevent him from rising. Spurling had retired for the night. Fly! fly!" "Do not think of me, mother, but of yourself," cried Jack, in an agony of tears. "Drink this," cried Jonathan, handing her the cup.
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