I cannot tell you much about it, but my bad times are over for the present. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. Disengaging his right arm, Jonathan struck his victim a tremendous blow on the head with the bludgeon, that fractured his skull; and, exerting all his strength, threw him over the rails, to which he clung with the tenacity of despair. “Very well,” he said. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack.
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