When the turnkey, next morning, stepp'd into his room, The sight of the hole in the wall struck him dumb; The sheriff's black bracelets lay strewn on the ground, But the lad that had worn 'em could nowhere be found. His statement was treated with derision. They walked side by side for a time. I next proceeded to Jenny Bunch's, the Ship, in Trig Lane—there I got the same answer.
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