“And as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer. The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. And we’re going to fight that old world down there. Without an idea where he was going, Jack pursued his way through the fields; and, as he proceeded, the numbness of his limbs in some degree wore off, and his confidence returned. He ran back to his car, glancing only once at the man in the car.
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