"Oh, God! that I might die too," cried Jack, falling on his knees beside her. Do have some tea, won’t you? If you must, go then. Remember! not a word!" So saying, he huddled the mantle over Wood's shoulders, dashed the lantern to the ground, and extinguished the light. Shotbolt, the head turnkey of Clerkenwell Prison, and Mr. ‘Still, the comtesse has them well in hand.
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