Coffee à la Turque wasn't so bad; but a guy couldn't soak his breakfast toast in it. Jack had got into one of the pens at the north side of the chapel. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. At this moment, Blueskin came up, and kept off the officers with his knife. "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly.
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