At the same time he comprehended that she was as pure and lovely as the white orchid of Borneo and that she did not carry that ridiculous shield called false modesty. But not so much a pig as that man. The militia offered little in the way of relief. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. Her lips parted, but no words came. ‘Me, I do not need the help of anyone. "Follow me, Thames," cried Jack, dropping into the chasm.
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