” “There’s Miss Garvice. " "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. I say, I'll take the yarn over and read it to McClintock. They are long gone. " While this order was obeyed, Figg, who had been standing near the door, made his way to the prisoner, and offered him his huge hand, which Jack warmly grasped. Don’t say anything, she thought to herself, say nothing more, Martin. I am gambling on his intuition.
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