At this terrible juncture, Jack maintained his composure,—a smile played upon his face before the cap was drawn over it,—and the last words he uttered were, "My poor mother! I shall soon join her!" The rope was then adjusted, and the cart began to move. “Unless you have an appointment, which you haven’t,” he said, “you’ll only waste your time here. "You musht do dat shob yourself, Mishter Vild," rejoined Abraham, shaking his head.
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