The stain upon our family is only half effaced: I have sworn the death of the villain and his bastard, and I will keep my oath. At this moment, the landlord of the Crown, a jovial-looking stout personage, with a white apron round his waist, issued from the house, bearing a large wooden bowl filled with ale, which he offered to Jack, who instantly rose to receive it. “Where would you like to go? Are you hungry?” “No. In the end, resolution triumphed, as it was sure to do, over the weaker emotions, and he laughed at his fears. I have—run away. America, the land of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to fly thitherward.
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