He turned to Ruth and McClintock. You knew me in Paris. But I've not promised to stand by him yet; nor will I, unless he turns out an honest lad,—mind that. Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him.
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