He fell backwards on his butt, the wind knocked out of him. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep. ” He laughed. "Not a moment is to be lost," cried Jack: "follow me. It was time to get up. The stranger turned his head at the sound. It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger.
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