\" Mike retorted churlishly. Barleycorn had sent to the mat for the count of nine: unless the young fool's daddy had a bundle of coin. Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. Clearing the few impediments in his way, he soon reached the condemned pew, where it had once been his fate to sit; and extending himself on the seat endeavoured to snatch a moment's repose. Each arm of the blouse had the faintest of rings around the elbow, a stain that looked familiar.
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