” “But it is too late,” she declared. Then he went back to his rooms and lit a cigar. " "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 don’t feel it. The weed was all right. “Anything is better than this—this stifled life down here.
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