The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. Wood was an old friend of mine—and I recollect seeing Jack when he was bound 'prentice to him. Let me go, Sir. “It’s my fault. “Damned Rascal!” he said. ‘As I have said, it was a quarrel between the vicomte and Monsieur Charvill.
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