" "Jack's a noble fellow," exclaimed the head-jailer of Clerkenwell Prison, raising his glass; "and, though he played me a scurvy trick, I'll drink to his speedy deliverance. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. She had asked to borrow his pencil out of dire necessity. A tourist caravan of four pole-chairs jogged along a narrow street.
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