But they were too late. Sordid; but that was not Ruth's term for it; she had no precise commentary to offer. Darting forward at this sound, Jack threw open the door, and beheld Quilt kneeling over Thames, who'se hands and feet were bound with cords, and about to plunge his sword into his breast. Hers were less noble, yet stately. Put him in the stocks, and there let him sleep off his drunken fit.
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