Kneebone," observed Shotbolt, as he emptied his tenth tumbler; "I'm sure he's meditating an escape, and hopes to accomplish it to-night. You promise to become a first-rate workman. Taking up a couple of large stones which lay near, Jack tried to beat the round basils of the fetters into an oval form, so as to enable him to slip his heels through them. But they cut it all off. Even given that he was hopelessly enamoured of the wench, a fact which was obvious to the meanest intelligence. ’ She eyed him, all her uncertainty surfacing. Miss Mary to the life, I said, and so she is.
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