‘None of them means anything to you at all? How odd. Straw and other combustibles being collected, were placed in the middle of the audiencechamber. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. "Who, then?" demanded Jack. What's-your-name?" "Shotbolt, Sir," replied the jailer. Meantime, every preparation had been made outside for his departure.
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