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Although much of Flaggan's language was incomprehensible to the pretty Sicilian, it was sufficiently clear to her sharp intelligence to enable her to follow the drift of his meaning; she blushed, as she turned away her head with a queen-like grace peculiarly Italian, and said "When yoo go hoff to seek?" "This werry minit," answered the sailor.
"W'at noos?" demanded Ali. "W'y, the noos that the war betwane this Raigincy of Algiers an' Tunis is goin' on raither favourable, and that forty mules were brought in this morning loaded with human heads." "Oh yes, I heers dat," replied Ali carelessly, as he filled his pipe from Flaggan's tobacco-pouch.
We will spare the reader Mister Flaggan's repetition of the details referred to, merely remarking that they embraced careful directions as to when and where a boat would be found on the coast ready to carry them out to sea, and that they contained many earnest cautions to be wary, as nothing short of death by slow torture would be their fate if recaptured this being their second attempt at escape.
One or two of Flaggan's exclamations enlightened him as to the true character of their unexpected visitor. "Hold, Mariano!" he cried; "the man is evidently a friend." "What's that ye're saying?" cried Flaggan, looking up, for he was still busy attempting to throttle Mariano. "I tell my brother that you are a friend," said Lucien, scarce able to restrain laughter.
Flaggan's attendant looked at him with a smile, and pointed to the ottoman. "Och, surely," said Ted again, as he sat down. Instantly he leaped up with a subdued howl. "W'y, what wrong?" asked Rais, looking up. "It's red-hot," replied Flaggan, rubbing himself. "Nonsense!" returned Rais; "you lie down queek. Soon git use to him. Always feel hottish at fust."
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