“You are their friend, then?” “I am,” Courtlaw answered. "Jack Sheppard's fingers are lime-twigs. And if you dare to produce any kind of weapon at all,’ he added, taking a plain brass-barrelled little pistol from his own pocket and levelling it, ‘I will have no compunction in blowing off your head, you madcap female. Though it’s very kind of you. "There, Sir," she added, unlocking the door, "you can go in.
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