As soon as Jack gained his legs, he perceived Blueskin lying, as he thought, dead in the plantation, with a severe cut across his temples, and while he was stooping to assist him, he heard groans at a little distance. “I’m going for a long tramp, auntie,” she said. “She can’t go now. I was resolved to see you. You’re the only person I’ve really given good, straight, unselfish thought to. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones.
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