The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. The poor boy, whose hands were pinioned behind him, looked very pale, but neither trembled, nor exhibited any other symptom of alarm. So he was forced to shift and proceed at another angle, forgetting his promise to McClintock to be temperate. The proa bore away to the northwest out of which it had come.
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