I'll have no such toast drunk at my table!" "It's the king's birthday," urged the woollen draper. What's-your-name?" "Shotbolt, Sir," replied the jailer. I've come to take you back home. Spurlock—for that's his real name—were married at high noon. From the freshness of the stains, which grew more frequent as they approached the adjoining chamber, it was evident some violence had been recently perpetrated, and the carpenter's own blood froze within his veins as he thought, with a thrill of horror, that, perhaps on this very spot, not many minutes before his arrival, his adopted son might have been inhumanly butchered.
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