" "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. Wood," cried David, pouring out a glass of the spirit, and offering it to the carpenter, "that'll warm the cockles of your heart. Suddenly he came to a stop, his mouth agape. Jacques is very bad, and I am afraid he may die. ‘Your mystery lady, I mean. You have taken my dagger. But even you cannot alter her character.
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