Giving him a wide berth, and keeping her pistol high, she made her way to the door and warily peered through it. "Your health, Kneebone. . "Where is he?" he cried. "Are you his ghost, then?" "No—no," answered Jack. His gaze drawn, Gerald watched him dip to pick up a crushed square of white linen and a starched object that resembled a helmet.
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