When Jack entered the cell, she was talking to herself in the muttering unconnected way peculiar to her distracted condition; but, after her eye had rested on him some time, the fixed expression of her features relaxed, and a smile crossed them. There would be no moon. On his third visit to the island she had surprised him, that is, she had glanced up suddenly and caught the look of the beast in his eyes. ‘So yours is the rattling tongue, is it, young madam?’ ‘I should say so.
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