Meantime, every preparation had been made outside for his departure. The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. One or two landladies refused her with an air of conscious virtue that she found hard to explain. He was more like a man who had left his bed in the middle of convalescence. And if the woman is not a rival, she must be—yes, that must be it. The Semitic looking young man opposite, who seems to have been committing you to memory piecemeal, will tell you that he was never so bored in all his life as he has been here. “Election be hanged!” he exclaimed. On one side of the chapel there was a large grated window, but, as it looked upon the interior of the jail, Jack preferred following the course he had originally decided upon to making any attempt in this quarter.
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