Kneebone," observed Shotbolt, as he emptied his tenth tumbler; "I'm sure he's meditating an escape, and hopes to accomplish it to-night. Vite, I pray you. The female’s words caught at his attention, and he no longer heard what the young Poussaint girl was saying to him. I know exactly what I am doing. . ‘Jacques?’ she called out, forgetting the need for silence.
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