" "Can I not carry you where you can obtain help?" cried Jack in a agony of distress. I felt as though I had bandaged eyes. "It was the story of a man, so to speak, who had left his vitals in his native land and wandered strange paths emptily. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. I'm ashamed to say that I was too much terrified to scream out—but ran and hid myself.
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