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Having seen his mistress safe down, Jack instantly descended, leaving the best part of his clothes, as a memorial of his flight, to the jailor. Ennison seemed to feel already the shadow of tragedy approaching. A new inexplicable madness that urged him to shrill ironically the story of his coat—to take it off and fling it at the feet of any stranger who chanced to be nigh. She could hardly remember his face except for his brown hair, thick lips, and narrow dark eyes.
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