She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. ‘Ah, Madame Joan. He was aroused from his slumber, about six o'clock, by the return of Abraham Mendez, who not choosing to confess that Jack had eluded his vigilance, contended himself with stating that he had kept watch till daybreak, when he had carefully searched the field, and, finding no trace of him, had thought it better to return. "It's an odd-shaped one," rejoined Kneebone, examining it attentively. “Well, I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. “On the stage? Yes.
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