Let—it—fall. "And, does any of our bright blood flow in the veins of a ruffianly housebreaker?" cried Trenchard, with a look of bewilderment. Towards this box Sharples directed his steps, and, unlocking a hatch in the door, disclosed a recess scarcely as large, and certainly not as clean, as a dog-kennel. Acquainted with every part of the jail, Jack well knew that his only chance of effecting an escape must be by the roof. Lose no time. The stranger started at the touch, and spoke.
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