"Basely and inhumanly murdered, by Jack Sheppard and Blueskin," continued Kneebone. "My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. \"Thanks. Wood, I command you not to stir," vociferated the carpenter's better-half; "recollect you'll be answerable to me. But we smirk a little, I’m afraid, habitually when we talk to you. By this time, the door was unlocked, and drawing his sword, Quilt entered the cell. She surveyed accommodation that seemed at first merely austere, and became more and more manifestly inadequate as the moments fled by. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. She could not say a word, much less move.
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