" "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. Committing him to the custody of the others, Blueskin, followed by a numerous band, darted in that direction. I must go to-night, or I shall never behold him again. Cheveney was looking after her, I think, then.
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