‘You do not know how I am like my mother. But I was sorry for poor Jack—as I am still, and hoped he would mend. “You certainly got him in the bag. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. " "He's let out for a few hours," laughed Kneebone; "but he's going back again after supper.
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