"Friday!" echoed Mrs. Civil engineering. At last—I told a story. “I’ll go. Amid the confusion, Shotbolt sprang to his feet, and levelling a pistol at Jack's head, commanded him to surrender; but, before any reply could be made, the jailer's arm was struck up by Blueskin, who, throwing himself upon him, dragged him to the ground. But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered.
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